watch me bleed (until i can't breathe)
by pleasantly.demented
Summary: Beth Greene and Daryl Dixon were everything to each other. Until Beth made the difficult decision to move away from home and pursue her dreams. And Daryl had practically shoved her out the door, cutting off any connection between them for years. When she returns home & inevitably meets Daryl again, will the fire that once raged between them rise again & burn everything she's built?
1. against my own advice

_**A/N: WARNINGS: Adultery (possibly), language, eventual smut, angst.**_

 _ **I don't even have any words. I'm sorry? I don't know what this is. I don't know who I am anymore or what I'm doing. But these MOTHERF***ING BETHYL AU IDEAS WILL NOT LEAVE ME ALONE. And, real talk, I hate rom/coms, chick flicks, HEA fairytale bullshit. So I blame these two beautiful human beings ENTIRELY.**_

 _ **This will be SHORT. HEAR ME, BRAIN? Probably not fully-developed, either, as with my other one-shot, experimental-ish stories... and this was supposed to be a one-shot but it's gotten out of control. I would like it to be 5 chapters or less, but I AM A GODDAMN LIAR!**_

 _ **I do not own nor am I in any way affiliated with TWD, AMC, or any of the songs/lyrics that I've borrowed for chapter/story titles.** _

_**Prevaricate is still my main project; but, alas, I am only human. And this thing is stronger than I am.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 1: against my own advice**

Beth Greene fumbled with the keys to her apartment. It'd been a long day at work followed by a long night of cocktails with a few coworkers. She was exhausted, though she knew that networking and being chummy and grabbing after-work drinks with peers was a great way to get to know some of her new colleagues.

She eased the door open as quietly as she could, hoping she wouldn't wake up her boyfriend, Zach. He worked on Wall Street in stocks and bonds and trading and had a hectic schedule of his own. They'd been seeing each other for almost a year when Beth had suggested that he move into her apartment. He'd been staying over practically every night anyway, and that meant he had to wake up even earlier every morning to go to his own place and get himself ready for work. He'd gotten lucky and found a subletter to take over the rent for his place fairly quickly. And he'd been living with Beth for a little over a month now.

It was Beth's first relationship since she'd moved to New York more than three years earlier. Her first relationship since her _first relationship_ , anyway. It was nice. And she loved him.

They had a lot in common; both very ambitious and career-driven. Beth had recently begun working at her first job, paying her dues - with the hope of one day working her way up the ranks - at a marketing firm, fresh out of graduate school. She'd moved from Georgia. And it'd taken her awhile to get used to the different pace – of people, of cars, of life in general – here. And it'd taken her much longer to put her past away. To move on. To make friends. To be happy.

Zach was responsible and refined. Raised in the city. Smart. Caring. And, for some reason, he found Beth and her country roots charming.

They'd met through a mutual friend that Beth had known in graduate school. Beth was hesitant, because her last – her _only other_ – relationship had ended _badly_. Painfully. And though she still carried more internal scars than she'd like to admit, she found that being with Zach, over time, had lessened the size and weight and depth of them.

She was surprised to see a dim light filtering into the end of the hallway of her small apartment. Coming from the bedroom. She thought she heard soft music playing. And did she smell something floral?

"Zach?" She called out, dropping her purse on the breakfast bar. The apartment was tiny. One bedroom, one small bathroom, a microscopic kitchen and a small living room area into which the foyer entrance opened. It was plain and beige and nothing special. Expensive. But it was her home, for now.

"Yeah, babe. Back here. Can you come here for a minute?"

She doffed her shoes, leaving the uncomfortable heels by the door, and made her way down the short hallway to the bedroom. She rounded the corner of the doorway and –

And then she froze in her tracks.

Rose petals were covering the small beige bed in the middle of the small beige bedroom. Soft music was, in fact, playing from the _iHome_ on the nightstand.

And there was also Zach. Down on one knee, facing the bedroom doorway. In one of his hands he held a partially-opened black velvet box, which partially concealed the light reflecting off of the glittering diamonds on the ring.

The ring. The _ring_?

"Zach, what - ?" She started, choking a little on her words. She grabbed onto the doorframe to hold up the weight of her body, because her legs suddenly felt like they were made of paper.

"Bethany Ann Greene, I love you. I promise to love you for the rest of our lives. Will you marry me?" Zach asked, and his voice wasn't nervous. It was confident. Like he always sounded. And he was dressed in black dress pants and a dark grey button-down dress shirt, tie and all.

Beth felt a stinging behind her eyes as she took in the scene in front of her. And it was almost like a dream or a movie or a romance novel. And she was just hovering there, in the space above her head. Watching. Waiting.

And she didn't think too long before letting her lips widen into a huge smile and falling down onto her knees in front of him, crawling over to where he was knelt. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Yes," she finally answered, voice thick with tears. "Zach, _yes_. I love you."

"I love you, too." He took the gorgeous ring out of the box and slid it onto her finger.

And suddenly they were engaged.

And after they made love for the first time as an engaged couple, and she'd texted her best friends and her sister, Maggie, and she was laying naked in her bed in her apartment with her fiance, one thought sent a tingle of fear up Beth's bare spine.

Zach had never met her family.

There was no way in hell Beth could marry Zach without him meeting her family at least once. And, luckily, the very next weekend was free for both of them. So, as soon as Beth had expressed her concerns, Zach had smiled and produced two tickets to Atlanta. Before she'd even actually asked. And it made her heart sing inside of her chest.

Xxx

"Babe, why are you so tense?" Zach asked as they waited for their luggage to circle around the convoy belt at the Atlanta airport.

It was true – Beth was feeling some tension. She hadn't been home - except for one Christmas several years ago - since she'd moved away for graduate school.

She was excited to see her family. Her momma, her daddy, her brother and sister. The farm.

But something was gnawing at her insides, leaving her belly raw and exposed to some kind of anxiety or dread or maybe it was just anticipation – but, whatever it was, she was fairly certain that, on some level, it had to do with _him_.

Xxx

They pulled up to the farm a few hours later in their rental car. The pole light illuminated the driveway and the large yard and barn in the back. The porch light was on.

"Wow, this is so – " Zach started, whipping his head around this way and that as he put the car in park. "Country. Like out of a novel or a painting or something."

"It's home," Beth said, and she smiled then – and it seemed to penetrate through all of tension she'd been feeling.

The front door opened and Maggie came running out of the house, barefoot and beautiful, strands of her long brown hair falling loose from the messy bun atop her head. Beth opened the passenger door of the car and met her sister halfway between the car and the house.

"Beth! Oh my god! I can't believe it's really you! It's been _so_ long!" The sisters embraced tightly. "Daddy and momma are _beside_ themselves right now!"

Beth heard the crunching of the gravel that layered the driveway as Zach slowly approached the Greene sisters. Beth released her sister, turning toward Zach.

"You must be Maggie," he said, flashing her a toothy grin. Of course, he'd dressed in his signature formal wardrobe, profusely overdressed in comparison to Beth's simple jeans and ratty t-shirt and cowboy boots and Maggie's short overalls and tank top. It was a warm summer night and breathing in the humidity lingering in the air was like a purification or a cleansing for Beth.

"And you must be the future brother-in-law," she replied, extending a hand. "Come on, ya'll. Can't keep 'em waiting much longer."

They entered the house, old wooden floorboards groaning just like they always had, and walked toward the dining room. Zach reached out for Beth's hand as they walked through the small foyer area, following Maggie through the dimly-lit kitchen.

Beth's heart swelled with love and longing and the sense of being _home_ when she took in the sight of her daddy, momma, and brother, all sitting in the old, high-backed chairs around the old dining room table. They were playing cards.

"Bethie!" Beth's mother, Annette, shrieked, standing immediately from the table and rounding the corner to pull Beth tightly into her arms. "Oh, sweetie. It's been almost three years! Do you realize that? Momma's missed ya so much, baby. Phone calls just ain't the same."

"I missed you too, momma," Beth said, feeling a hot tear roll down her cheek. She hadn't anticipated feeling quite so overcome with how much she missed this. Family. Home. It was easy to put it aside when she was in New York, working constantly and just living day by day. But now it was filling up the spaces in her heart that she hadn't even entirely known were empty.

Her momma looked the same. Dressed nicely but conservatively in a faded dress, apron still tired in place. Her hair, which had once been auburn and long and sleek, was still beautiful even with the interspersed strands of grey that'd appeared, and it was pinned up into a bun and soft tendrils framed and accentuated the softness of her round face.

"Daddy," Beth said, walking over to stand next to her father, who remained seated at the head of the table. He looked older; his hair white and thinning. But his smile was the same – the way it reached his eyes and overtook his entire face and made her smile in return, every single time, no matter what mood she may've been in.

"Doodlebug," he sighed. "You look beautiful. So grown up. We've missed ya, 'round here, my baby girl." He pulled Beth down and into his arms, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

"Baby sis," Beth's brother, Shawn, said, nodding his head at her as she released her embrace on her father.

Beth stuck her tongue out at her childhood arch-nemesis and then jogged around the table to wrap her arms around her brother from behind as he feigned disgust at her display of affection. And even he looked older. Which, of course, he was. But he was a man, now. Physically, at least. The color of his hair was a sandy shade, somewhere between Beth's and Maggie's. And it was short and messy – always messy. And his eyes were a rich brown and he'd been blessed with the olive skin tone that he shared with Maggie, while Beth was fair-skinned.

"Daddy, momma, Shawn – I want you to meet my –" Beth's words were stilted for a moment as she referred to Zach as more than her boyfriend, really, for the first time – "My fiancé, Zach Johnson."

Zach stepped forward into the dining room, stood confidently at the other end of the dining room table and flashed his most charming smile.

"Hello, everyone. So nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you all. Your home is magnificent," he said, walking around the table, cordially offering his hand in greeting to each of Beth's family members.

"We are so excited for ya'll," Annette said. "Can I get ya some food? Lemonade? Sweet tea?"

"I'd love some sweet tea, ma'am," Zach replied, wrapping an arm around Beth's waist.

"And once ya get that, sugar, I'd like to have a few moments to talk with Zach," Hershel said. He turned his eyes to Zach then, adding, "if you don't mind, that is."

"Of course, sir," Zach said, taking the glass of tea from Annette.

Hershel struggled to his feet from the old cherrywood dining room chair, grabbing his cane.

"Let's go into the parlor, have us a talk, son." He nodded toward the rest of his family members and led the way out of the dining room.

"Good luck!" Beth said, giggling. Zach turned around briefly, shooting her a nervous smile and a wave of his fingers.

Shawn left shortly thereafter to meet up with some friends, and Beth spent a few moments letting her mother and sister _"ooh" and "aah"_ over the large rock adorning her ring finger. It felt strange, wearing it. And Beth supposed that that was normal.

"Momma, I'm gonna go see Nelly," Beth said, suddenly feeling the strong urge to check on her horse.

"She'll be so happy to see you," Annette said, kissing Beth's forehead. "Don't stay out too long, Bethie. I'll warm up some food an' get the guest bedroom made up for Zach."

"Guest bedroom? Momma, we _live together_. We're engaged," Beth said, sighing at her mother's ancient rule of the segregation of males and females – unless they were married – under her roof.

"You know the rule, hon. It's just for the weekend. Then ya'll can go back to _livin' in sin_ ," her mother shot her a knowing smile and made her way up the creaky wooden stairs to the second floor of the house.

"And I've gotta get home 'fore Glenn gets home from work and thinks I've left him again," Maggie said, rolling her eyes. Glenn was Beth's brother-in-law, and he and Maggie lived about twenty miles away on a small farm of their own. Beth had only been able to visit it once, but it was beautiful and the perfect place to raise a family - if they ever decided to start one.

"'Kay. Make him come see me tomorrow. Love you," Beth said, pressing a kiss to her sister's cheek.

"Will do. See ya tomorrow." Maggie walked toward the front door but turned back around just before reaching it, and whispered to her sister.

"Oh – and, Beth, I'm not sure if he's still here, half the time he parks his truck out on the field roads, but – uh – Daryl – he's been working late. Just a head's up."

Beth stiffened at the mention of _his_ name, nodding her head jerkily even as she smiled and tried to act naturally.

As soon as she heard Maggie's car pulling out of the driveway, Beth opened the door and left the house, almost breaking out into a dead sprint toward the barn. Whether _he_ was there or not, she couldn't wait another second to see her horse.

Xxx

The barn door was slightly ajar and a dim light shone from between the crack left between the sliding doors. Which wasn't anything particularly unusual; she'd often left the light on for Nelly and the other horses, ever since she was a little girl.

She slid one heavy door open wider. Beads of sweat were now forming over her brow and along her hairline with the muggy temperature of the night.

She half-jogged over to Nelly's stall. Same stall she'd always had, since Hershel'd brought her home as an 18th birthday gift for Beth.

And it was like the horse had been standing there, just waiting for her, for the past three years.

Tears prickled her eyes as she approached the stall and placed both of her hands around the horse's face.

"Nelly! God, girl, I missed you so bad," Beth whispered to the horse. "I'm so sorry it's been so long. Bet you been wonderin' where I been. Why I left you. But I promise I'll never leave you, girl."

The horse nuzzled Beth a little - as much as a horse could nuzzle a person. And she wasn't sure if Nelly actually recognized her or missed her, but Beth had the distinct feeling that, if nothing else, her beloved horse hadn't forgotten about her. About the nights she'd spent out there with her, laying among the hay on the dirty floor, singing and talking and laughing to the horse like she were Beth's best friend.

"She's been actin' out, that's for sure." The deep, low voice that'd been forever etched into Beth's memory echoed quietly in the barn, startling her.

" _Jesus Christ_ , Daryl! Is that you? What the hell are you doin'?" Beth whisper-yelled, clutching her chest. She whirled around and saw his form – and she'd never forget the shape of him, despite the years and miles that'd been stretched between them.

He stepped forward and out of the shadows, long dark hair obscuring half of his face. He wore a sleeveless shirt and dirty jeans and Beth tried so very hard not to let her eyes wander anywhere – to force them to stay on his face. His eyes. His blue eyes, made of fire and ice and everything that could burn her and freeze her all at once. And maybe that wasn't a great idea either, so she looked at her feet instead. The floor of the barn, covered in a disarray of hay and feed and mud.

"Workin'," he shrugged, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting it while keeping his eyes trained on Beth's face.

"It's late. And you're out here. Alone. In the barn. It's – _creepy_ , Daryl." Beth's voice was a bit stilted, but she attributed that to the surprise of it all. At seeing him. At hearing his voice, after so long.

"It's work, Beth. Ain't creepy. The hell are _you_ doin' here?" His tone was a bit clipped as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. His eyes didn't waver.

"I, uh – had a free weekend. Haven't been home since – "

"Three years ago come Christmas," he finished quietly.

"Yeah," she said softly, bringing her eyes up to meet his. "Long time."

"Ya look good," he said. And she knew him well enough – more than she knew anyone else, really, were she being honest – to know that he wasn't being flirtatious. Not overtly. But it didn't stop the blooming heat that she felt spreading over her neck and up onto her face.

If he saw it, he didn't say anything about it. Just kept talking. "Nelly's been better. Was sick, a while back. Tried callin' ya. Guess ya changed your number. Didn't wanna ask your folks. Been stayin' late with her, makin' sure she's doin' a'right." He said, walking a bit closer to Beth and where she stood next to her horse.

"Oh, um. Yeah, I mean – no. I still have the same number. Guess you didn't leave a message, or maybe my phone erased it or somethin'," she said, turning her eyes and attention back to Nelly.

Daryl didn't say anything. Just leaned up against one of the poles that extended from the ceiling to the concrete floor of the barn. Kept smoking his cigarette.

"So, you're just – just working here now?" She asked, keeping her eyes on Nelly as she combed her fingers through the horse's mane.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head.

"Nah, still doin' some construction work on the side. But mostly I'm here. Watchin' after your pops. Acts like he's still in his twenties some days. An' your damn brother ain't much of a help."

"Yeah, he never was. Still surprises me that he's still hangin' around here. Would'a figured him to be the one to move to some city." Beth smiled a little. Shawn was a good person; he was just never interested in any of this. Not a hunter or a farmer. Couldn't cook or clean for shit. Most productive days they'd had as a family was when he was out on the town with his friends. But they all knew nothing was quite the same without him hanging around.

Beth picked a brush up from the bucket on the ground and eased open the stall door, stepping inside to be closer to Nelly as she groomed her. She was as beautiful as Beth remembered, light brown fur and an even lighter mane and tail. Small diamond-shaped patch of white fur between her eyes.

Absentmindedly, Beth had begun humming as she continued to groom her horse. And she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this much peace. Even though that thought alone was ridiculous, with Daryl Dixon standing right there, mere feet away, observing her.

She moved to walk around the back of Nelly to get to her other side – which was risky, but she'd done it a million times before. But as she circled around, the horse became agitated, kicking her hind legs at Beth's body and sending her into the hard wooden paneling at the back of the stall.

"Shit, Nelly – " Daryl said, still in that yell-whisper.

Beth corralled herself in the back corner of the stall. Nelly'd gotten one pretty harsh kick in but as soon as Daryl wrenched the stall door open and put his hands around the horse's snout, she began to calm down.

"'S okay, girl," he whispered, voice uneven. His eyes flicked to Beth, who was watching him as she crouched over, feeling the pain in her gut from the horse's kick.

Daryl slowly made his way over to Beth, reaching one hand out while he kept the other on the horse's flank, stroking her fur softly and gently.

She hesitated, but quickly realized that Nelly had become more comfortable around Daryl. More comfortable than she was around Beth. Which sucked and felt altogether like another kind of kick to the gut. But it made sense.

She grabbed Daryl's hand and he hoisted her entire body toward him in one quick motion, and she slammed up against his side.

He slung his arm around Beth's lower back and she leaned into him so that he could take on some of her weight as they slowly made their way back to the stall door. Daryl continued whispering at Nelly in that calm, rough voice of his, even as he opened the door with his one free hand and lightly pushed Beth outside of it.

Beth doubled over with her hands on her knees, heaving in deep breaths. She guessed it was a delayed reaction to getting the wind literally kicked out of her.

Daryl latched the stall door shut and came over to Beth's side, resting a hand on her mid-back, rubbing gentle but hesitant circles.

"Y'alright?" he asked, crouching his face down next to hers.

Beth gasped in a breath. "Yeah, yeah, 'm fine."

"Then stand up," Daryl said, pulling at her shoulders.

"Ugh, _fuck_ ," she moaned at the stretching sensation of her abdomen and the muscles underlying the skin there as she stood.

"Whoa, ain't heard anythin' like that come out of _that mouth_ in a long ass time," he quipped, but she could see his lips shift from a smirk to a frown. "Shit, girl. Bleedin'." Beth looked down then and saw the small circle of blood in the middle of her shirt.

He started to pull up at the hem of her shirt when she finally came to her senses.

"Stop. _Stop_. I can do it myself," she said, batting his hands away.

"You can barely fuckin' _breathe_ , Greene. Just c'mere. Got a first aid kit back here still. Need to get it cleaned an' covered." Daryl yanked her by the arm to the empty stall at the other end of the barn, where they used to hang out. And smoke cigarettes. And make out. And –

"Stop thinkin'. Just gonna fix up your damn wound. Ain't gonna bite ya." He grumbled, still pulling her along with him.

They reached the back stall and he jerked his head at the ground, so Beth slid down against the back of the door until she was sitting, leaning up against it.

Daryl was digging through the various kits, finally finding the one with first aid supplies.

He turned toward her and his eyes caught hers. Just for a moment. But, for just that moment, something seemed to spark in the air. Something tangible yet invisible and it was like thick wind and sweet heat, and it didn't just spark in the air. It sparked inside of her. In her bones. In her blood. Something that made Beth suddenly and desperately want to get up and _run_. Back to New York. Further, maybe.

"Lift it up," he murmured, crouching down beside her and interrupting her thoughts. "An' lay flatter."

She followed his instructions, reminding herself that he was just helping her patch up her wound. Probably less weird this way, anyway.

She lifted her shirt up, exposing her belly and the small scrape that'd been the consequence of the impact of Nelly's hoof. It was minor. She'd always bled a lot, even with small paper cuts and bumps. Which came in handy when she was a child and she and Maggie would get into physical altercations.

Daryl kept his eyes on the wound as he cleaned it methodically.

"Ow, damnit! That _burns_!" She hissed when he applied the antiseptic ointment.

"Burn a lot worse if it got infected," he shrugged.

He leaned his face down then, and his mouth hovered just inches above the skin of her abdomen. And Beth wasn't sure what the hell he was doing –

But then she felt his cool breath over the burning wound. He was blowing on it. Softly. Slowly. Shakily. Even as he continued to rub in the ointment, just a little more, with his fingers. And Beth felt a rush of emotions hitting her everywhere, all at once. She felt heat, hot and intense and mindless, unfurling inside of her and it made its way to her outsides, causing her to tremble – just slightly. So slightly that maybe he didn't notice.

She'd loved this man once. More than anything. And he'd let her go; no, he'd practically _forced_ her to go. To move on. To quit calling him. She repeated those words and those thoughts in her brain, in her heart, in a never-ending loop, like a mantra.

"Better?" He asked softly, finally lifting his eyes to hers.

She felt the heat creeping up her throat and prayed to _some god_ that it wouldn't redden the skin of her face.

Not trusting her voice, she simply nodded, locking her eyes onto his.

He turned around briefly and then returned with a gauze dressing, which he applied and taped to her skin with unexpected delicacy. Smoothed out the edges with his rough fingers.

She could feel the sweat forming more thickly now, dripping down in between her breasts even as she lay in a semi-supine position with her head slightly propped up on a pile of hay. And she wasn't certain that she could blame it entirely on the weather or the temperature in the barn or her injury -

He grabbed for the hem of her shirt, letting his fingertips linger on her skin just for a moment – a moment that may've been longer than absolutely necessary - as he pulled it back down to cover her exposed skin. And his touch made her skin tingle and her heart race. And it was so wrong. So, _so_ wrong.

But her mouth had fallen half open and her breaths were quicker, maybe audible. Maybe visible. And she knew he knew.

Because she could see his own strong chest heaving in deep breaths. His eyes, struggling to stay on her face. His hands, clenched into fists and resting on his thighs.

"'M so glad you came back, Greene. I been waitin'. Three fuckin' years, I been waitin'." Daryl's voice was suddenly a lot quieter. Rougher. Grains of salt and gravel that ran down her spine.

"But, Daryl – you –" Beth started, confusion bubbling from her heart to her throat to her voice as she spoke.

"Don't, Beth. We both know why I did what I did. But, _fuck_ , I was wrong. I can't – " He ducked his head then, and Beth remembered this part. A precursor to the times when he'd revealed more than he'd intended. Like when he'd told her he loved her for the first time, so many years earlier. "I _can't_ fuckin' stop. Thinkin'. About you. I've tried. But I haven't. Since ya left."

"Daryl," Beth finally choked out. "I have to tell you –"

"Oh my god, what _happened_?" Beth heard Zach's voice, filled with concern, from the top of the narrow stall door. And she didn't understand how neither she nor Daryl had heard him – or her father – enter the barn. She hadn't heard a footstep or a voice among the thoughts and feelings rushing into her head like the waves of a tsunami. And apparently Daryl had been just as caught up in it all.

And they were lucky they hadn't drowned.

"Oh," she said, quickly pulling herself into a sitting position with a light groan of pain. "Nothin', I'm fine. Nelly's a little feisty, kicked me. My own fault, shouldn't have been walkin' round the back of her like that."

Zach furrowed his perfectly-shaped eyebrows, and Beth knew the puzzlement there was genuine. He knew nothing about horses. About what to do and not do with them.

Hershel said nothing at first, just let his eyes subtly slide from Daryl's face to his daughter's and back again.

"What're ya still doin' here, Dixon? Said you could go home hours ago, son." He finally said, leaning a bit more of his weight onto his cane as he peered down into the stall.

"Was gettin' ready to go. Heard someone stumblin' around, saw Beth. Figured I oughtta stay an' supervise her an' Nelly, what with that horse goin' through her damn crazy spells." Daryl said as he stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Glad you were still here then," Hershel nodded. And the inflection in his voice was odd to Beth, but she didn't have time to think about that. Not now. Because Zach was here. And she hadn't really ever imagined a scenario like this, let alone prepared herself in any way for the meeting and introduction of the two of these men – the two men most important in her life, besides her daddy and brother.

Beth stood up too, then, shaking the hay out of the blonde strands of her hair as she opened her mouth to speak -

"Pardon me," Zach said, beating her to the punch. His charming smile was in place as he addressed Daryl. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Zach. Beth's fiancé."

Daryl's eyes widened – only fleetingly, and probably Beth was the only one that'd noticed – and he glanced briefly at Beth. And she _felt_ the pain radiating from his eyes and into her entire body.

"Yeah, sorry, I would'a mentioned that sooner, but then Nelly went crazy and I didn't quite get the chance, and – " She started, words getting caught in the sudden viscosity of her saliva, the sudden weakness of her tongue, the sudden inadequacy of the breath inside her lungs.

"Name's Daryl," he said quietly, cutting her off. "Dixon. Just a farmhand, old friend of Hershel's. Tryin' to keep your future pops-in-law in line."

Zach smiled enthusiastically. "Well, I thank you for taking such good care of him and his farm and my poor, clumsy Beth."

"'S nothin'," Daryl said, shifting his eyes to the ground and then – again, just briefly – to Beth's.

"Well, we best get outta here, 'less we wanna rile up any more o' these old stallions," Hershel said, pivoting back around and walking with a slow cadence toward the door of the barn.

"Zach," Beth said, "why don't you go on, help daddy inside? I'm just gonna help Daryl close everythin' up."

"Sure thing, babe. I'm going to take a shower. Find me before you go to bed." He leaned over the top of the stall door, palming one side of Beth's face as he pressed his lips to hers as he whispered, "you're such an adorable klutz."

He looked over at Daryl, then. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Dixon. Hopefully I'll be seeing you around again over the next few days."

Zach walked off, leaving Beth and Daryl alone. And she wasn't sure why she'd felt the need to dismiss Zach. She had nothing to explain to Daryl. They weren't together. Not anymore. Hadn't been for years. Hadn't been _anything_ for years. But, for some reason, she felt like she needed to.

"I was gonna tell you," she whispered, keeping her eyes on the ground, tucking the hair on one side of her head behind her ear.

She felt his hand on hers, lifting it up into the dim light cascading over them. Her left hand. She tipped her head up slightly, watching him with curiosity as he studied her hand - her ring - twisting it this way and that in the light.

"'S pretty," he mumbled, keeping his face down. "Better than anythin' I could'a got you."

"Daryl, please. Don't. We just. Our lives – they – we went down different paths." She knew her voice was breathy, and she felt a sudden desperation for him to be okay. Okay with this. With them. Honestly, she'd missed him too. Not just their relationship. But their friendship. They'd been friends – the best of – at one time, before they'd been _more_. And she had to hope that they could get back to that. There'd been something missing in her life since she'd left. And, yes, that hollowed emptiness was mostly created by the separation and isolation from her family and her hometown and the life that she had always known. But she'd have been lying if she didn't admit that _he_ was also a significant part of that.

"'Cause of me," he said, releasing her hand and bringing his own up to his mouth so he could chew on his thumbnail. A habit he'd had since they'd met, when Beth was a senior in high school and Daryl had just moved to town with his brother, and probably even before then.

"No. Not 'cause of you. I moved away. Couldn't expect you to wait around. Was stupid of me to even try to live out that fairytale," she said, inwardly scoffing at herself. She'd been twenty-two when she'd left home after she'd earned her undergraduate degree. She and Daryl had been together for so long, it didn't even occur to her that anything would change. That distance or time would or _could_ change anything.

But Daryl had insisted that they stop what they were doing. Because _"long-distance relationships don't last. And I ain't gonna have you runnin' back home to me every damn chance you get – ain't worth it. Not when you should be studyin'. Experiencin' the world, meetin' new people. Not when you deserve so much more than all of this."_ And none of her tears or pleas or promises to love him forever had changed his mind. And it had fucking _devastated_ her. And he wouldn't entertain the thought of her looking for another school around Atlanta. Because NYU had been her dream. Even when she'd screamed _"fuck my dreams! you're my future! I want you more than any other dream!_

And he was right. It'd hurt for a long time. She'd had no desire to meet anyone new, in the beginning. No desire to make friends. No desire to look for any semblance of love, because, then, she'd thought that it could only happen once. But then she found Zach. And now they were engaged.

"Wasn't stupid, Beth," Daryl said, shaking his head. He lifted his eyes to hers and sighed heavily. " _I_ was fuckin' stupid. And I'll live with it. 'Cause I gotta. And it'll make it easier, for me if - if you're happy."

She felt a stinging behind her eyes – the source of which she couldn't quite comprehend or discern definitively. He was being kind. And vulnerable. And so many things she wished he could've been _before_. Because there was a time when she would've waited. All he would've had to say is that he wanted her to. But, instead, he'd said _"I don't want you anymore. I don't want you to wait. I ain't gonna."_ And now it was too little, too late.

She sucked in a breath, turning toward the door of the stall.

"I am happy, Daryl."

Xxx

Beth was awoken the next morning by a weighted dip in her mattress behind her. Zach sure did have some balls, sneaking in here –

"My favorite sister-in-law!" Glenn almost-squealed, wrapping his arms around Beth from behind.

She flopped over onto her other side to face him, excitement coursing through her blood.

"Oh my god! Glenn!" She said, wrapping her arms around her brother-in-law.

"Look at you, baby Greene! All grown up!" He continued, wide smile overtaking his face and eyes.

"And I'm gonna get married!" Beth flung her left hand out, twisting her wrist around to make the sparkles dance in the early morning light shining through her bedroom window.

"I heard," he said. "So where is the son-of-a-bitch? Hidin' him in your closet?"

"You're insane, Glenn Rhee. You know damn well he's in the guest bedroom, where you spent many a night 'fore you and Maggie got married."

"Yeah, god, Mama Greene is so old-fashioned. Poor guy. Should I go give him a surprise morning spooning, too?" He laughed.

"Oh, god. I think he's been tortured enough. Daddy cornered him last night already, I assume givin' him some version of _the talk_."

"Then he _definitely_ needs some spoonage," Glenn said, smiling. "Well get your ass up, Beth Ann. We're day drinkin' while your pops takes Zach out."

"Excuse me?" Beth asked. This information was new to her.

"C'mon, you know your dad. They're gonna go out to the shootin' range. Hershel's gotta let the guy know that, despite his frail appearance, he can still shoot a gun straight at his dick if he fucks with his baby girl!"

Glenn kissed Beth on the cheek and bounced out of the bed, whistling loudly as he opened her bedroom door and walked out into the hallway.

"Oh, fuck," she sighed to herself. If Zach made it through _this_ weekend alive, she might just marry his ass _next weekend_.

Xxx

"Have fun, ya'll!" Beth yelled, waving at Zach and her dad as they climbed into his old pick-up truck. Zach had been a bit nervous when Hershel had come to him with the plans of the day, but he'd manned up and agreed.

"Just in case your dad shoots me," Zach yelled out the passenger window, "I love you, Beth!"

Beth laughed. "Love you too!"

Maggie, Glenn, and Beth stood on the porch, watching as the men pulled away. Shawn was hungover and apparently sleeping it off in the basement. Annette was out shopping for her book club meeting that'd be taking place later that evening. She'd asked Beth to come along with her – and she almost had, but then she'd seen the mischievous arched eyebrow on her sister's face.

"A'right," Maggie said, playful grin plastered across her face. "Let's go boozin'!"

Xxx

An hour and two beers later, Beth was buzzed.

She, her sister, and brother-in-law had parked their asses in a corner booth at the only bar within a twenty-mile radius. It was a total hole-in-the-wall but Beth had always loved it. Though she'd generally avoided drinking there. They _all_ usually avoided it if they knew they'd be interacting with Hershel, who was a recovering alcoholic.

But she hadn't seen any of her family in nearly three years. And she missed her sister and Glenn so badly. So she'd decided to be a little selfish for once and she'd pushed back the thoughts of her father's lifelong struggle, bought some extra cinnamon-y chewing gum and breath mints, and nodded and laughed in excitement as they'd headed for The Watering Hole.

"So, I mean, why now?" Glenn asked, downing a shot of some amber-colored liquid that apparently burned his throat as well as his eyes. He began coughing immediately as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"What d'ya mean?" Beth asked.

"Why get engaged now? I mean, ya barely know the kid."

"Well," Beth started, truly not sure exactly _how_ to answer this particular question. It was one that'd never been asked. She'd never been forced to consider it, really. "I mean, we've been together over a year, Glenn. And – I guess – he asked. And I said yes?"

Glenn busted out in loud laughter, and he had the kind of laugh that made everyone else around him laugh. Including Maggie, who was shooting pool at a table on the other side of the small bar.

"Well, just make sure y'ain't just settlin'," Glenn slurred. "Plenty of time to call it off. Hell, thought your sister was gonna call it off right up until I saw her sexy ass walkin' down that aisle toward me."

Beth rolled her eyes. Maggie and Glenn had been together since they were both in high school. They were madly in love. They fought, of course, as all couples did - and Maggie could be quite intimidating (and, probably more accurately, a Spiteful Bitch, which was one of Beth's favorite nicknames for her sister) when she wanted to be - but Beth had never doubted the truth and love upon which her sister and brother-in-law's relationship – and marriage – had always been built.

The door of the bar opened then, letting in the golden rays of midday sunlight, and Beth turned her head to see which patron had decided to join the group of – what? – 5 or 6 people total who were currently in the bar.

And of course it was _him_.

And she immediately felt her chest tighten up and a volcano of butterflies erupt deep in her core, licking hotly along the sides of her belly like magma coated in sugar. And it was a strange reaction. It was unsettling, but she felt less unsettled that it was _mostly_ just a physical reaction.

Because she wasn't so far removed that she couldn't admit that he was still completely sexy. Always had been. And even if she didn't know – somewhere, deep inside her – what he sounded like and looked like when he was coming or the way his eyes pierced and cut when he said _I love you, Beth Greene_ , she'd still find him attractive. She'd still be attracted to him, physically. And that wasn't wrong. Because it couldn't be helped. Right?

He was wearing dirty jeans and another one of his - per usual - dark, sleeveless, button-down shirts. Hair was a greasy mess and falling into his face. Face was scruffy.

"Yo, Dix! Dix- _awwwn_!" Glenn yelled over the music – which was entirely unnecessary given the lack of people at the bar at the moment.

Daryl turned his head, spotting Glenn and Beth. He ordered a beer at the bar near the front and began walking over toward the table at which the two were sitting.

"The fuck's this? Family reunion?" He asked by way of greeting, half-smirk in place.

"It is now!" Glenn said, flinging his scrawny arms around Daryl's neck.

Daryl shifted his eyes to Beth's questioningly as he patted Glenn's head.

She smiled a little, shrugging. "He's a few shots deep," she whispered.

Daryl nodded, smiling and locking an arm around Glenn's head, mussing his hair with a dirty fist.

And Beth had to look down. To avert her eyes from his arms. From the sculpted ridges of his triceps and biceps that seemed to call to her like a siren every time he moved. Jesus, what happened to her self-control? She'd only had two beers.

He released Glenn, who then wandered over to the pool table. Beth watched as he approached Maggie from behind, grabbing her ass in his hands and squeezing. Maggie jumped and whipped her body around, probably preparing to smack whoever'd taken the liberty to touch her that way. But then she saw it'd been Glenn and she shoved her body forward and into his. And then they were making out. And Beth shifted her eyes to the ground.

Daryl took Glenn's seat, just across the high-top table from Beth. And one of his knees brushed one of hers as he sat down, and it almost made her gasp out loud. And _why_ would her body just not fucking _cool it_?

"Ya lit?" He asked quietly, taking a drink of his beer.

Beth shook her head – both in response to his question and as a warning to her body, over which she apparently no longer had any control. "Nah. Was a little buzzed, but drunk Glenn always takes care of _that_ for me."

He huffed. And it was almost a laugh, but not quite. And the air had become thick, between and around and above them.

"He here?" Daryl asked, keeping his eyes on the bottle of beer in front of him as he peeled back the label with a finger.

Beth blinked a few times. Trying to decipher what exactly he meant. He rarely asked simple, one-layered questions. And she knew that. She couldn't _not_ know that.

"No. With daddy. Shootin' range," she said, voice low.

Daryl nodded, releasing the bottle's label in favor of biting at his thumb.

"Good ol' future son-in-law treatment," he said. And his tone wasn't exactly _sad_. But it was _something_.

"'M sure Zach's pissin' himself. Ain't even _seen_ a gun, I don't think. He's very anti-gun," Beth said, hoping to lighten up the conversation.

"And just how the hell d' _you_ end up with a guy like that?" Daryl asked.

"Not every guy has to be a gun-slingin', huntin', farmin' country boy," she replied quickly. And she'd heard the sharp edge in her own voice. And she hadn't intentionally meant for there to be _any_ edge, though this conversation was dancing along some invisible boundary that she couldn't quite define. But it didn't make her feel comfortable.

"Didn't say nothin' bout _every guy_. Asked how the hell _you_ ended up with a guy like _that_." He'd finally lifted his eyes to hers. And they weren't only on her eyes, not necessarily. Or maybe they were. But Beth could feel them everywhere. Outside her. Inside her.

"I need a damn drink," she muttered.

She jumped off the high barstool, almost rolling her ankle in the process. But she recovered quickly and stalked off to the bar without giving Daryl a second glance.


	2. cut out all the ropes (and let me fall)

_**A/N: Just a short note to say thanks to anyone who has read & reviewed this little diddy. Means a lot. **_

_**Entire chapter takes place at the bar. I'm having fun writing Maggie and Glenn, for some reason.**_

 _ **Guess I should've mentioned the extremely slow pace here. But I'm playing with the idea of a (small-ish) time jump, which will make more sense (uh, I hope, anyway) as the story progresses.**_

 _ **Beth and Daryl talk. Like it's the last time they'll ever talk.**_

 _ **Also... SOS: HELP BETHYL ANGST HAS TAKEN OVER MY LIFE.**_

 _ **Please be honest and tell me if I'm being too angsty. Don't want to lose readers because of that, because I know that it's not everyone's cup of tea. But I think it's validated here. Because of their situation. Because of a lack of closure that they both feel but can't do much about because of reasons.** _

_**xx**_

 **chapter 2: cut out all the ropes (and let me fall)**

An hour or so had passed. Maybe. Beth wasn't sure. The sun was still out; she could see it shining in through the cracked blinds covering the two windows on the wall of the bar.

She'd taken up shelter on one of the seats at the bar. A few more people had entered the establishment. The place wasn't anywhere near full capacity, but it was a bit louder.

She may've been on her way to drunk.

She'd made friends with the bartender, Wade. He was an older guy who didn't live too far from the bar. He was round and pleasant and wore a backwards hat that sported the name of some biker-gang television show on its brim. He'd commented on her ring soon after she'd made her way to the bar, and they'd struck up a friendly conversation. And he'd been feeding her drinks at her request.

Maggie and Glenn were still playing pool, and Beth could hear their laughter over the music playing from the jukebox every now and then. Daryl – last she'd chanced a glance in his direction – was alternating between playing darts and sitting at the table, nursing his beer.

She'd sent a text message to Zach not long ago, and he'd replied, so there was that. At least he was alive. But he'd said her father had planned out an entire day of future-in-law bonding, to enjoy her time with her family, that he'd see her later that evening.

So she'd sighed and thrust her phone into her purse and ordered another drink.

"'Nother one, Beth Ann?" Wade asked, wiping down the bar with a not-exactly-clean rag.

She nodded. She didn't remember telling him her middle name, but it was the name by which she'd gone for so many years, when she'd lived around here, and so it felt natural. Felt right.

"Best slow down soon, if ya wanna be in tip-top shape for your honey," he smirked, popping the top off of her bottle of beer.

"He ain't gonna be back any time soon," she said quietly. "My daddy's gonna have him jumpin' hurdles and re-roofin' the damn barn 'fore I get him back."

"Well, it's not a _bad_ thing, baby doll. For the man ya love to have a good relationship with your folks. 'Specially your pa." Wade replaced her empty beer bottle with the new one, flashing her a smile.

And he was right. It was just that she felt so – she wasn't sure, exactly – out of place, maybe. Like she'd left this place - this life - so long ago and that she couldn't just reinsert herself and feel normal. Not that having Zach in here would make that feeling evaporate or lessen in any way. In fact, it'd probably just make it worse. She almost smiled as she envisioned Zach, dressed up in his suits and ties, in this dimly-lit, smoke-filled bar that was filled with people who were probably far too uneducated for his personal preference. She imagined him scoffing at the classic rock blaring from the jukebox, asking Wade about the (non-existent) selection of top-shelf liquor.

Truth be told, if she didn't feel so out of place – or whatever – she would've enjoyed this. She _had_ enjoyed this place, before. It was the epitome of home, right up there with Sunday dinners and harvest season.

She felt someone approaching behind her. And just by the way she _felt_ it, she knew that it was likely Daryl. And she felt a little relieved. And a lot like she should apologize. For getting inexplicably bitchy and weird and walking away and leaving him alone to be subjected to her sister and brother-in-law, who'd now begun alternately fighting and making out against the back corner of the bar.

Beth tilted her body and her face backward, just slightly, just enough so that she could see one of his arms – flexed at the elbow, and he was undoubtedly chewing on his thumb.

"Wanna sit?" She asked quietly.

He didn't respond, but, after a few moments of silence, he pulled out the stool next to Beth and quietly climbed up and onto its seat.

He sighed and leaned his elbows forward and onto the bar. She turned her head fully towards him then, and his face was cast downward, leaning against the upturned palms of his hands.

She turned her body towards his. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the need to feel like she wasn't some outsider in this place – this place that she'd once considered among her favorites in the entire world.

"I'm sorry," she started, voice still quiet. She shifted her eyes across the room, just briefly, and was satisfied to see that Glenn and Maggie had returned to the unabashed display of affection portion of their cyclical behavior.

"'Bout - _that_. I'unno what's wrong with – I mean, I'unno why I got all bitchy, back there." She jerked her head backwards, toward the table at which they'd been sitting earlier.

He turned his face, still rested against his hands, toward hers then.

And _why_ did his eyes have to look like that? Why did he have to look at her that way?

He shrugged a bare shoulder and she mentally berated herself - and her eyes - for turning towards it, for watching the subtle rolling and shifting of the solid muscles there. Cursed her memory and her fingers – because she remembered, even after all of this time, what those muscles felt like under her touch.

"'S okay. I was the one askin' questions I ain't got no right to ask." His voice was a rough whisper and his eyes trailed slowly from her own and downward, to her lips, to the tidal rise and fall of her chest.

"You can ask me anythin' you want, Daryl." She wasn't quite sure from where _that_ had come, but it wasn't entirely untrue. She wouldn't judge him or hold it against him. They hadn't spoken in more than three years. And, now, suddenly, here she was. Engaged. Back in his life, by default, because he'd never left her life, by default, here. Their lives were intertwined, always had been. Beth knew, she _knew_ in her heart and her bones, that her family loved him like one of their own. Even when shit between them had gotten bad. This was all-encompassing, a part of every singular part of her life – it really was bigger than just the two of them.

He dropped his hands and heaved in a breath, turning more fully towards her. Opened his mouth to speak or ask or confess something when, suddenly, a woman crashed into him from behind.

The woman was older. Older than Beth, anyway. Fake blonde hair, fake breasts that were shoved up against the wall of her chest by the contact between her front and Daryl's back. Her face was covered in thick and uneven layers of dark makeup, and she was chewing gum noisily. With her mouth open.

"Baby, sorry I'm late," she cooed, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Daryl's neck.

Beth couldn't look away, much as she wanted to. _Needed_ to. And Daryl's eyes hadn't left hers, and she couldn't quite decide what kind of look he was giving her. Apologetic, maybe. Sad, maybe.

He swallowed – hard and visibly – and turned his head to the side, toward where the woman's was resting against his shoulder. And Beth studied the way her makeup rubbed off of her and onto his own skin, onto his shirt.

"'S okay. Ran into some friends, anyhow." He murmured the words to the girl. And Beth could tell that he was trying to speak quietly, but she'd heard.

"Oh, my manners!" The woman giggled, releasing her hold and removing her lips from Daryl, and walked around to stand in between Beth and Daryl's seats. "Hi, doll, I'm Emily. Guess you know my _special friend_ , Daryl, here." She thrust a fake-tanned hand out toward Beth, and Beth stared at it momentarily, at her long, fake, neon-pink-colored fingernails.

Beth hesitantly extended her own arm, briefly shaking the woman's – Emily's – hand.

"Beth," she said simply. Quietly. And she tried _so_ hard to smile at the woman. She didn't know her. She had no right to judge her. No reason to think anything negatively about her.

And then she turned around and her short, skin-tight, sparkly black dress – and _who the hell would wear that to The Watering Hole?_ – left very little to Beth's imagination, and she latched her lips onto Daryl's.

And, again, Beth couldn't look away. And she could tell he was trying to make the kiss chaste and brief and somehow insignificant, but she could also clearly see Emily's tongue sliding into his mouth and her hands - with her fake, painted _claws_ \- digging into the sides of his face, could clearly hear the quiet moan she released into his mouth.

Beth managed to tear her eyes away, catching Wade's attention with a brief wave of her hand.

"Need somethin', girly?" He asked.

"Yeah," Beth said, trying to catch her breath and calm whatever bullshit reaction her body'd experienced to what she'd just witnessed. "Uh, yeah. Please. 'Nother beer and a shot – I don't care what. Just give me what you been givin' Glenn all night."

Wade scurried away to fill her order and Beth whipped herself back around to face the bar. She studied the empty bottles lining the wall. The scrawled names of drunken patrons on the faux-wood paneling. She knew hers was there somewhere. And after searching for a few moments, she found it. And she wanted to vomit at the curled letters she'd written several years earlier – probably when she was twenty-one or so.

 _"Future Beth Ann Dixon"_ with a little heart dotting the _i_ – and wasn't _that_ a cosmic joke sent from hell?

Soon as Wade returned with her drinks, Beth quickly downed the shot, ignoring the burning heat that slid down her esophagus and into her mostly-empty stomach, and chased it with the beer. Half of the beer, actually, but who was counting?

"Jesus, Greene. Take it easy, a'right?" She snapped her head to the side, partially relieved that Emily was no longer hanging all over him like some bitch in heat, yet she was still annoyed. At him. And there must've been a reason, but she couldn't pinpoint it.

"I'm damn near twenty-seven years old, Daryl. I can fuckin' drink whatever the hell I want to," she snapped.

"Yeah, an' I know how well you handle your alcohol, _Beth Ann_ ," he said, voice low even as he moved his face closer to hers. And she suppressed her body's physical reaction to him. To his words. To him calling her _that_. Like he used to. When he loved her, and she loved him. When they were picking out names for their fucking children and designing their dream house, the one that Daryl had promised her – the one that he'd sworn he'd build with his own hands.

"See you've been _waitin'_ so patiently," she sneered. The alcohol coursing through her veins had apparently already begun to lower her inhibitions and clog her brain-to-mouth filter. And maybe she should've _not_ taken that shot.

"What?" He asked, incredulous. "Are you fuckin' _kiddin'_ me, Beth?"

"You're the one who said _one fuckin' night ago_ , Daryl, that you'd been _waitin'_. Three years. Hadn't stopped _thinkin'_ about me. _Couldn't_ stop. Less'n twenty-four hours in this town and I've already had the pleasure of meeting your charming fuckin' _girlfriend_." She dropped the tone in her voice, imitating his words from the previous night as she threw them back into his face.

Yeah, she was pissed. And drunk. And it wasn't right - how mindlessly pissed and unjustifiably _jealous_ she was. And she didn't have a right to be either of those. But he'd fucked with her head, a little, the previous night. And if he could fuck with her head, then she could sure as shit fuck with his.

"I'm so fuckin' stupid," she continued. "I thought we could actually fix this – this _shit_ between us. Maybe be friends again. I can see now that it's totally impossible." She brought her bottle of beer to her lips, keeping her eyes on his as she took a long pull.

He pressed his face impossibly closer to hers as he scoffed and released a humorless, breathless laugh.

"Yeah, _that_ is fuckin' impossible, Beth. I will _never_ be your fuckin' _friend_. I don't _wanna_ be. An' so what? You met my _girlfriend_? Ain't no fuckin' girlfriend. There's just _girls_. Girls I fuck, because what am I s'posed to do? _Huh_? Want me to crawl in your fuckin' childhood bed at night an' jack off under your pink comforter, after I spend my days with your goddamn family? _That_ what you want? Wanna go an' run off, back to your _perfect_ fuckin' city life, with your _perfect_ fuckin' _fiancé_ , an' imagine me doin' that? _Pinin'_ over your ass?"

His breaths were ragged as he spoke. His voice was shaking – with anger or pain or hurt or something. It was the most she'd heard him speak in - literally - years. And what he said now didn't hurt much less than what he'd said back then. During their most recent _actual_ conversation. When he'd told her to _go_ , to live her life, to not waste another second of it here, with him.

"I never said I _wanted_ anythin' from you." She said quietly.

" _Good_ ," he snapped, chugging the last half of his beer all at once. He slammed the bottle down on the bar. But it didn't really draw any attention, as the noise in the place had increased in volume in proportion to the number of hours of the day ticking away.

"'Cause if ya don't already know it by now or ya forgot it sometime in the last three years, here's your fuckin' public service announcement: ya _can't_ count on me for shit. Don't expect a thing from me, Beth. Ever. Ain't sayin' it to be cruel. Just the opposite. I can't an' _won't_ ever be what you _want_ me to be. Never been able to. I can't move to some fuckin' city an' act like I like it. I can't let you give up everythin' you've worked so hard for an' come back here, no matter how much I fuckin' _love you_. I can't be that selfish. Not with you. Not then. Not now."

She inhaled sharply at his unexpected - and, possibly, involuntary or unconscious, she guessed - admission. There was no way he still _loved_ her. Not like that. Not like he used to. Or he would have never made her go. He would've never insisted that they end things. He would've never started ignoring her calls, her texts. Because it – _they_ – had been everything. To her.

"You –" she started, voice shaky and thick. "You don't."

He looked down at the bar, tracing circles on the smooth top of it with the condensation rolling down and onto its surface from the empty bottle of his beer. Maybe he nodded slightly.

"Don't kid yourself," he murmured, keeping his eyes on the bar. Away from her face. Away from her.

"Ya know I do. You're not fuckin' stupid. Wish I didn't, wish I could make it stop, but I guess that don't matter none. I don't have a say in it. An' it don't change nothin'. I know that. Told me you was happy. An' that's all I need to know. 'Cause I couldn't stand the thought that I'd ruined your life by lettin' you go. An' maybe now, if I'm lucky – maybe I can move on, too."

Beth felt tears welling up in her eyes. And _goddamnit_. Why? _Why_ was he doing this? Now. When she'd just gotten engaged. When she was in love with someone else. When he'd had _years_ to just say _those fucking words_. And they could've figured it out. They would've. All she'd ever needed to know was that _he wanted to_. And why did any of this even matter since she was, in fact, in love with Zach? Why did it feel like her heart was shattering inside her chest all over again?

And suddenly, a flash of anger shot through her, hot and bright, and it crushed the feelings of confusion and unwelcome pain that'd resulted from the words he'd spoken.

" _You're_ the one who told me to go," she whispered. And she didn't care if the anger and frustration that she was feeling had seeped into her voice. She didn't care if her words were fueled by alcohol or jealousy or sadness or any or all of the above. " _You_ pushed _me_ away. Let's not forget that."

"That what you think? That I've _forgotten_ that, Beth? I regret it every fucking _minute_ of every fucking _day_. That what you wanna hear?" His face was close to hers again and he kept his voice hushed but there was a certain level of harshness surrounding the invisible shape of his words as they lingered in the air and between the two of them.

She couldn't stop the hot tears from spilling over and down onto her face then. And she watched his eyes as he watched them roll down her cheeks.

"Then why, Daryl? Why did you do it? Do you know how fucking _horrible_ my life was for so long after you shut me out of yours? When you stopped answering my calls? I was _alone_. My heart was fucking _broken_." And she'd started sobbing a little, but it was quiet. And she wasn't worried about it. Not really. Not now, anyway.

"An' now you ain't. Your heart's back together, right? Should be, 'cause you're gettin' fuckin' _married_ , Beth. You're _in love_ with someone. You're _happy_. Ain't you?" He scrubbed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "An', fuck. Just _sayin'_ that makes me wanna fuckin' punch something." She could hear the undercurrent of anger and hurt in his tone. Even if, to anyone else, his voice would've sounded calm. Even.

Wade wordlessly stopped in front of them, placing two fresh and opened bottles of beer on the bar in front of each of them.

"It didn't have to be this way," she said, sniffling, as she took a drink. And it was starting to taste like water. Salt water, maybe. Maybe it'd mixed with her tears. She was surprised she'd had so many tears left.

"It's how it was always s'posed to be, baby." And she wasn't sure if that term of endearment he'd muttered – one he'd given her when they'd started dating so many years earlier – was intentional or just habit. And she wasn't sure if her reaction to it – the increased rate of her breathing, the pounding of her heart – was a simple, conditioned response or something _more_.

She felt her lips quiver a little as she spoke again. "No. It's how _you_ wanted it to be. _I_ didn't have a choice."

" _Don't_. Don't give me that shit," he replied quickly, quiet anger breaking through his voice. "Ya could'a said no, Beth."

"That's not fair, Daryl!" Her voice had become a little louder, then. But she couldn't control it. She couldn't reason with him. He'd pushed her away, broken her heart, and she'd had to move on. Because what else was she supposed to do? Hope that one day he'd change his mind while she struggled and lived her life in total misery? Pray that he'd show up at her shitty apartment in that shitty city and admit that he was wrong, that they were meant to be together because literally _nothing_ in the entire universe made sense when they weren't together?

"The hell's goin' on with you guys?" Glenn's slurred voice interrupted their conversation. And it was probably for the best. It was going nowhere. Just a painful, endless circle. One from which she'd only recently – or it felt recent, at least – withdrawn herself.

"Nothin', man. Just catchin' up an' shit." Daryl shrugged, starting on his fresh beer.

Glenn lowered his voice – or tried to – and slung an arm apiece around Beth and Daryl's shoulders.

"Just so you two – you _fuckers_ – know. I was always rootin' for ya. I've always been _Team Beth an' Daryl_. An' it was always s'posed to – er, _you_ , baby sis. You were always s'posed to be Beth Ann _Dixon_. An' at ya'll's wedding, Maggie'd give a much better speech 'n Daryl's dick of a brother." He laughed a little, pressing a kiss to Beth's temple and then one to Daryl's. And then he started crying.

"Oh, _goddamnit_. C'mon, Glenn. Don't fuckin' start this again," Daryl groaned, forcefully removing Glenn's arm from where it'd been resting across his shoulders. And by Daryl's response, Beth wondered if this had been a frequently-discussed topic.

"I'm sorry, I just - I fuckin' love you guys. An' you might think I can't see very well –" he pulled apart the skin above and below each of his narrowed eyes with his fingers, laughing a little through his tears. "-'cause I'm Asian, I mean. But I _can_ see. My vision's like – like fuckin' Spiderman's. Or at least whatever's better'n 20/20. An' I _know_. I know ya both still love each other. An', guys. It's like a fuckin' tragedy."

Beth felt herself stiffen and she thought she saw Daryl exhibit a similar reaction from where he sat next to her.

"Time to go home, Glenn," Beth said quietly.

"Aw, damnit, c'mon. I get punished for just keepin' it real with two of the people I love the most on this whole damn earth? With two of my favorite family members? What a crock," he whined. "Maggie ain't ready yet, anyhow. If you wanna fight with her, be my guest."

Beth glanced across the room, seeing her sister dancing – by herself, of course – and sipping on the mixed drink in her hand. She waved unsteadily at Beth, smile widening when Glenn stumbled his way back onto the dance floor. Which wasn't actually a dance floor, but rather a small square of open floor space in between the pool table and the wall.

"Ugh, Jesus. This was such a bad idea," Beth sighed.

"If you need to take off, I can take care of these two," Daryl said quietly.

And somehow the air between them had changed yet again. It wasn't exactly friendly. But it wasn't unfriendly, either. It wasn't entirely tense. And Beth was beginning to feel sick just from the volatile nature of it.

She pulled her phone out of her purse, checking the time. It was four pm, still early. Her momma would be heading off to her book club soon. Her daddy and Zach would be gone until evening.

"S'okay," she said quietly. "Ain't got anywhere special to be."

"Just let me know. Means a lot to your folks, you comin' home." Daryl's voice was still quiet as he began fidgeting a little in his seat.

She squirmed a little herself, then, as the force of the guilt she'd often felt over the past few years crashed, without warning, into her gut.

She nodded. "Yeah, I know. I miss 'em. Hate bein' so far away. It's just so hard." And she left out the part that _this_ – that _he_ – was part of the reason it'd always been so difficult. To come back. She could associate almost everything about her home and simply _being home_ with him. And she feared the crushing pain that she'd always imagined she'd feel just by coming around again.

And she'd been right. Because even now, when she was in love and happy and engaged, it still hurt. It still hurt that they couldn't even be civil with each other, not for long anyway. That she couldn't even look at him without feeling hot or angry or imagining her hands sliding up his warm, muscled body. That he, apparently, couldn't look at her without feeling some regret and pain. And how exactly did people do this? How did any pair of people with any amount of a pained history ever become _anything_ again?

"Daryl, baby!" Emily squealed from across the bar, interrupting Beth's thoughts. She was bent over by the jukebox, bottom edges and folds of her ass cheeks visible from the bunched-up material of her dress. "What's that song ya always like me to play?"

Daryl sighed and twisted his body around to respond to her.

"Just play whatever ya want, Em."

"No, really! What is it? The one you play at least once every time we're here?"

He didn't respond this time, but this was obviously a very important thing for Emily. And Beth could sympathize. She remembered times when she'd been drunk and her sole mission had been to figure out the artist who sang _that one song from that one horrible 80s movie that sounded just like this other song and who the fuck was it?!_.

"Babe? Daryl? What was it called again?" She yelled again, and Beth could see Emily from the corner of her eye, flailing her arms around in the air – to try and get his attention, she guessed, which was ridiculous because Beth was certain that even people outside on the street could hear her shrill voice.

Beth watched as Daryl, keeping his head down and his eyes on the bar, shook his head in irritation. And she almost smiled.

Xxx

Glenn and Maggie's tolerance to alcohol was actually astounding. Beth had been checking her phone and the time periodically, wondering if they should head back to the farm soon. She was buzzing a little more now, as there wasn't much else to do besides drink. She hadn't heard from Zach in a while, so for the time being she had resigned to attempt to unwind, maybe even enjoy herself a little after the tense interaction she and Daryl had had earlier.

And speaking of, she and Daryl had actually been engaging in some light, non-confrontational conversation. Mostly about Daryl's life, his work, his brother – Merle – with whom he still shared a small manufactured home not far from the Greene's farm.

Maggie sauntered up to the bar, wrapping her arms around Beth's neck from behind.

"Bethie, I love you. I'm so glad you're here. And I wish you'd come home more. Everythin' is better when you're here," she slurred, pressing a wet kiss to Beth's cheek.

"I'm gonna try to, Mags. I really miss everyone here. Zach's work schedule is pretty insane, though, but we'll figure out somethin'. Definitely gonna have to come home more often when it comes time to start plannin' this wedding." She hugged her sister tightly.

Daryl scooted his chair out noisily, and Beth watched him as he crossed the room and started flipping through the jukebox.

"Everythin' okay?" Maggie asked, looking from Daryl to her sister.

Beth nodded. "Better. For now, at least."

"I always thought it was so strange. Romantically strange, if that's a thing? That even after all you guys went through, how hard it was on both o' you – he still kept comin'. To the farm. Every damn day, Bethie. Takin' extra special care of Nelly. Watchin' out for daddy. Like even though he couldn't be with ya – he still just _had_ to be, somehow." Maggie's words were still slurred, but they were somehow crystal clear in Beth's mind.

And though Maggie's words had chipped away at a substantial part of Beth's heart, the song that had just started playing from the speakers in the bar effectively demolished it.

She lifted her head away from Maggie's, seeking out Daryl. Because he'd just been standing at the jukebox. Which was now playing _this_ song. A song she couldn't even fucking _listen_ to anymore or tolerate for even one second, for even one verse. One she hadn't heard since the weeks following their break-up, when she'd been grieving and played it on repeat every night while she cried herself asleep in her beige, boring apartment in New York. It was stupid, and they had never been _that_ kind of couple, with designated "date nights" or "songs" or "movies" – but this was the song that'd been playing the first time they'd stripped each other naked and he'd clumsily pushed himself into her while cursing her name like it was a fucking prayer. And it wasn't that they'd labeled it "their song". It was just that, every time it had played since that first time – that first beautiful time he'd fucked her in his bed until she was sobbing and screaming out into the night that she loved him – neither of them turned the radio dial to a different station. And maybe she'd purchased the CD, just for that song. And maybe he'd downloaded it and listened to it on his _iPod_ when he was working. And maybe, when they hadn't seen each other for a few days, he'd text her a lyric that she'd finish in her own message back to him and it was comparable to them telling one another _I miss you and I love you and you're everything to me_.

Beth scanned the room, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Maggie," she mumbled, whipping her head around, still searching. "Gimme a minute. I'll be right back."

But her sister was talking to Wade and didn't even appear to notice when Beth climbed off of the barstool and ran out the front door to look for him.

And she didn't have to look far. He was leaning up against the brick wall adjacent to a dark alley on the side of the building, around the corner from the entrance. Smoking a cigarette and staring at the ground. Didn't even lift his head or acknowledge her in any obvious way when she'd approached him.

"What the _hell_ , Daryl?" She huffed, breathless.

He turned his head toward her then, exhaling a thick fog of smoke out the side of his mouth.

"C'mere," he whispered. And his tone was gravel again, but somehow colder – like jagged chips of ice. And some part of her wished, right then, that she could live in that sound. Or wear it as a coat, as armor.

She closed the distance between them as she came to stand directly in front of him. And she might've stumbled, just a little. But she'd been drinking for a few hours. And she was wearing her cowboy boots, which she no longer wore on a regular basis. And the sidewalk and bumpy rocks that she'd walked over didn't create an exactly level surface.

He didn't say anything, just looked up at her from behind the fallen strands of his disheveled hair and beneath his tilted forehead. And his eyes were burning into hers. Like they used to. Like they were telling her, without any words, that he wanted to crush his lips against hers and invade her mouth and her soul with his tongue and his teeth and his words. That he wanted to run the rough tips of his fingers along the corded muscle that surrounded her vertebrae and dip them lower until he was gripping her ass and murmuring about how much he needed her. How badly he needed to be inside her.

She felt that merciless surge of heat again, and it was licking at her, inviting her, enticing her from the inside out. And she couldn't control it. But she couldn't act on it.

So she plucked the cigarette out of his fingers, brought it to her mouth, and took a long drag. She didn't cough, though the smoke she'd inhaled seemed to claw at her trachea and burn, deeply and hotly, in her lungs. She exhaled slowly, keeping her eyes on his. Because this could be it. The last chance. To get it all out there. All the things she'd wished she'd had the opportunity to hear. Or say. She didn't know. She didn't know anything.

She handed him the cigarette and he immediately brought the filter up to his own lips, and it was like he was _starving_ for some – for any – taste of her. And the small groan she heard at the base of his throat as he inhaled was like a stick of dynamite detonating in her core.

She could still hear the music and lyrics to the song from the inside of the building against which he was leaning. And that served as a little bit of a distraction from her body. From his.

"Why'd you play that?" And she was surprised at the breathless tone of her own voice, but satisfied that she'd finally remembered how to speak.

"'Cause soon it's gonna be all I've got," he responded. And she felt a dipping sensation in her gut, like when her daddy used to drive the truck really fast up and down the hills that stretched out beyond their farm. "Dance with me? One last time. 'Fore we can't."

She sucked in a breath and felt the tightening sensation claw its way into her throat now. Because, fuck, his voice. It was desperate and sad and pleading - _begging_ \- her for this one thing. And she could do this.

Maybe he didn't deserve it. Maybe it wasn't right.

But she reached a hand out and grabbed his own, yanking him with a little force towards her and away from the wall, bringing him to the center of the alleyway with her.

And he let out a shuddered breath as he trailed his hands down to grip her waist. And he let out another when she wrapped her own arms around his neck. And then they started to sway, maybe. It wasn't exactly dancing, but Beth could feel her ankles rolling awkwardly on the rocks that covered the alley as they moved. She realized they weren't dancing to any kind of rhythm except for whatever was inside of them. And it wasn't graceful. But they never had been.

She didn't flinch when he ducked his head down, resting his forehead lightly against her own. And she didn't even try to suppress the shiver that passed through her body when she felt his hot breath against her skin, when she felt his lips moving against her forehead as he mouthed the words to the song. When he murmured the lyrics silently; the lyrics she'd have memorized for the rest of her life.

He pulled her in more closely, more tightly. And she let him. And she let one hand drop down to his shoulder from where it'd been resting across his back. Let her fingers flex and squeeze the muscle there. Like she'd been imagining since she'd come home – like she'd been imagining for years. Let her head tip down and rest upon his other shoulder with her face turned inward, mouth just inches from his neck.

He sighed loudly, and it was silent but full and heavy. With something, some kind of emotion. And Beth couldn't decide if it was relief or contentment or discomfort or pain or anger or sadness or some combination of those, or maybe something else entirely. It was cryptic and unknown but somehow made its way into her body, and she thought that she felt all those things too. Maybe all at once. Maybe not at all.

Then he whispered. "'M sorry. So sorry. Know this ain't the time. But I've just gotta say it – once. Out loud. Just need ya to hear it."

He tilted his head down a little further, so that she could feel his whispered breath right on the shell of her ear. And she was trembling and her heart was beating in some irregular rhythm that rivaled the unsteadiness in their feet as they rocked back and forth.

"I've fuckin' loved you since the day I met you, Beth. I'd do anythin' to take it all back. The shit I said. Shit I did. How I made ya feel. I was so 'fraid you were gonna stay here 'cause of me. After how hard ya worked. Couldn't let you. I ain't ever been worth none of that. An' I'm so proud o' you, Beth Ann. For doin' what ya always wanted."

Beth's breath was caught in her throat as she listened to him. As he answered some of the questions – in his own obscure way – that'd been soundlessly weighing her heart down for years, all in a pained whisper while they continued to sway – or maybe they'd stopped, she didn't know – in broad daylight in the middle of an alley next to a shitty bar that she happened to love.

"I remember the first time ya kissed me. Called me out on my bullshit, said _quit dickin' around an' just fuckin' kiss me, Dixon_. An' I remember the first time ya said ya loved me," he whispered, and it was like a lullaby decorated with daggers. "I couldn't believe it. Didn't believe it. But ya kept on tellin' me, like somehow ya knew I needed the reminder. An' I can still see the way your fuckin' eyes got brighter, every goddamned time ya told me."

He sucked in a harsh breath. Rubbed his scruffy cheek along the skin on the side of her head a little.

"An' it fuckin' – god, it fuckin' _hurts_ me, baby," his voice had become taut, as though he were being strangled, and she squeezed his shoulder - so very lightly - just to let him know that she was hearing him. She was listening. And she was here. And he could keep talking. And she kept the side of her face glued to his shoulder. And she knew he must've felt the erratic, paradoxical rhythm of her breathing against his neck.

"It hurts so bad – to know that ya found someone else. That _he_ gets to see that look in your eyes. That he gets to hear ya say those words. An' that he got to give ya this." He paused and lifted a hand up to where hers was clenched tightly to his shoulder, and he wrapped it around her own, and his fingers slid lightly over the ring on her fourth finger, twisting the band a little against her skin.

"That he gets to take care o' ya for the rest o' your life. 'Cause it should'a been me. Doin' that. But I can't – can't be mad. At you. Or him. 'Cause I'm glad ya found him. 'Cause he can give ya everythin'. An' you deserve everythin', Beth Ann. One thing I've done right was to believe in that." He inhaled audibly and forcefully and pressed a quick, shaky kiss to her hairline.

Beth's mind and emotions were swirling and spiraling and chaotic, like his words. They were almost blinding her, like a dream – no discernible end or beginning or purpose and she was just stuck, rooted there, in the middle of them all. She was angry - fucking livid, really - that he was doing this now. That he was saying this to her _now_. But she was simultaneously overcome with some sense of relief that he was _finally_ saying it. All of it. Even if it hurt like hell. Even if she wouldn't wish any of this – any of what she was feeling – on her worst fucking enemy.

When she came back down to earth and into her body, which was still and tense but still anchored tightly against his, she realized that the song had ended. Their song had ended. The moment had passed. And she could hear the bass thrumming in tune with a different song, one that she vaguely recognized and instantly hated. It was more upbeat, with lyrics that weren't much more than a sweet lie that parents told their children when they confessed their unrealistic dreams; lyrics that sent the message that life was an adventure, that anyone could do anything, that everyone could have exactly what they wanted. And she wanted to find the person responsible for the song and punch them in the fucking face, because it wasn't true. Wasn't now. Never had been. Never would be.

She released her grip on Daryl and backed up a few paces. And she didn't really have a plan. She didn't know what was going to come out of her mouth in response to his words – to his words that had slammed into her with the force of a hammer on a nail, and she was just the piece of fragile wood – the imperfections and flaws of which he was somehow ruining and mending all at once with each word he spoke, with each swing he took.

Maybe she'd tell him that he was wrong. That he _hadn't_ done right by her. That he'd fucking wrecked her. That he'd scarred her so badly that she might not ever fully heal. That all she'd ever wanted him to believe in was _them_ , not _her_. That he was worthy. That he deserved just as much as she did, if not more. That he was a fucking asshole, for saying what he'd said. That he was a coward, for not saying them sooner. For calling her _"baby"_ and twisting her gut into nothing more than beautiful, braided knots of pain. For talking to her like she was some precious angel that he'd only been lucky to know once upon a time - because that was _bullshit_. That she loved him. That she always had. That she always would. That she was grateful for him, for his sticking around, for taking care of her family when she was gone because she was too cowardly and afraid to just come back and face it and face him. That if she'd known any of this a month ago – hell, maybe a week ago – she would've left Zach – even if she wasn't entirely sure that that was true.

But she didn't say anything.

"Beth? Oh, god, _there_ you are!" She startled and turned toward the entrance of the bar and spotted Maggie, who was walking quickly over to where she and Daryl still stood. "The hell's goin' on? What've you been doin' out here?" Maggie crossed her arms over her chest, cocking one of her hips out to the side as she looked from Daryl's face to Beth's and back again. And her words were still a bit slurred and the movements of her eyes were slowed by the effects of the alcohol.

"We were just talkin'," Beth said quietly.

"Well I been lookin' for you," Maggie said, voice edging towards some kind of drunken irritation.

"Sorry. I wanted to – talk to her. Out here. Quieter," Daryl muttered. And it pissed Beth off. Because she didn't need him to protect her. He didn't _get_ to protect her.

"Actually," Beth said quickly. Sharply. " _I_ followed _him_ out here. Wanted a smoke. We ready to go or what?"

Maggie's face went slack and her lips curved into a frown as she shook her head.

"Daddy's droppin' Zach off here in a li'l bit. Just got off the phone with 'em. Said he wanted us to hang around, spend some quality time with his future son-in-law an' come home for dinner later."

"Fine," Beth said, and she didn't really care that Zach would probably be offended by this place. By the people here. By the beer she'd been drinking all day.

"An' Daryl, daddy asked if you could stick 'round too. Figured you could take Beth an' Zach home, since we only got one extra seat in our truck," Maggie added.

Beth heard the sound of the rocks under Daryl's feet somewhere behind her as he fidgeted a bit, shifted his weight maybe.

"I came on my bike," he said quietly. "Can't take 'em both."

"'S okay. You can take Beth home an' Zach can ride with me an' Glenn. Once we sober up. Glenn's tryin' to get Wade to let him sing karaoke." Maggie sighed but her exasperation was feigned, because Beth could see her smiling as she turned around and went back into the bar without another word.

"We'll figure somethin' out," Daryl muttered.

Beth whipped her body around, facing him. And she didn't attempt to hide the flurry of emotions she was feeling. And she probably looked disfigured, if her face had been twisting in the same the way that her mind was.

"What? Can't give me a ride on your fuckin' bike, Daryl?" She snapped.

He narrowed his eyes as he took a few steps towards her.

"Oh, I can give ya a ride, Beth. I just can't even _think_ about your fuckin' thighs wrapped around my body right now. Or your fuckin' body pressed up against mine."

His voice had changed again, as had the air between them. It was low and fringed by some kind of warning. And his eyes were hard and hot and dropping to her lips and slipping back up to her eyes, all in the same breath. And she almost felt dizzy, as though her body had been the thing being whipped around from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other.

"Well, guess ya better start _thinkin'_ about it, then, huh?" She snapped and her body almost jerked with the force of her words. She spun on her heel, pissed at him and pissed at herself, and walked back into the bar.

And a part of her wished, now, that she hadn't been so insistent on or felt so concerned about Zach meeting her family before they got married. And she almost wished that her daddy would have been pissed at them for drinking and demanded that they come back to the farm, right this instant. Because she didn't know what else was going to happen here. Her body was strung tightly, bowing invisibly, and close to the point of breaking.

Everything in her brain was screaming at her to _stay the fuck away from Daryl Dixon, because you love Zach Johnson. You are engaged to Zach Johnson. You are in love with him._

But her heart (and the broken but loud and desperate pieces of it), shattered as it'd been, was pleading with her and screaming something entirely different.


	3. hide my head (i want to drown my sorrow)

_**A/N: Apologies for any mistakes - was eager to get this up (and out of my brain). Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate.**_

 _ **Thank you for the reviews - they mean a lot to me and are basically the only things keeping me motivated at this point. To answer a question (and I actually meant to say this in the last chapter notes): the song that I had playing over and over in my head during the last chapter when I wrote about THEIR song was "ALWAYS" by Bon Jovi (I know, I make myself sick).**_

 _ **Majority of this chapter takes place in the bar. Warnings for some sexual inappropriateness/attempted assault in addition to the regular warnings of language and gratuitous exploitation of Daryl's sexiness. We get to see a little of Merle here (I FUCKING LOVE MERLE, I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS!). And Zach makes his return. Beth's head is messed up - just throwin' that out there in case it wasn't clear enough. Daryl's is also, but he's trying to do right by her. "He believes that everything he's ever done, every move he's ever made, has been for love."**_

 _ **Look forward to hearing what you think.**_

 **chapter 3: hide my head (i want to drown my sorrow)**

Beth had taken another shot – maybe two – when she'd returned to the bar after her _talk_ – or whatever the hell it was – with Daryl.

She let a couple of men – new ones, who hadn't been there earlier, she'd noticed – buy her some drinks. Beers, mixed drinks. She didn't care at this point. She wanted to dull – or even better, numb – the frenzied pandemonium that had continued churning and building and layering within her chest and her head and her heart, long after she and Daryl had spoken.

He hadn't left. She was surprised by that, though she wasn't sure why. That's what he'd always been best at, after all – _staying_ – even if he wanted to go, even if he could have more than this if he really wanted to. If he'd just take a step. He sat at a table by one of the windows and mostly stayed there, too, save for the few instances during which he'd walked up to the bar to get another drink.

Beth was talking with one of the men who'd been buying her drinks. He was sleazy, and she was well aware of that. But she didn't care. He was a person, just like the rest of them. Flawed and angry and disappointed and living life under the same sky as the rest of them. He was a little older than Beth, short and stalky and not altogether _bad_ -looking, but his eyes were shallow and seemed to lack any capacity of staying on her face as they interacted, despite their relatively light-hearted and cautiously friendly conversation.

A few minutes prior, Maggie and Glenn had walked across the street to a diner to get Glenn some food to quell the nausea he'd finally begun to feel due to the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed throughout the course of the day. Maggie'd asked Beth to join them, but she'd declined in favor of sticking around at the bar to wait for Zach to arrive.

"So, what's a pretty young thing such 's yourself doin' here all alone?" The sleazy man – Brent, Beth thought he'd told her that that was his name – asked, eyes glued to her chest even as he spoke to her.

"Ain't alone," she said quietly, ducking her head for the umpteenth time to try and get him to just act like a normal fucking _adult_ human being having a conversation with another adult human being instead of a horny fourteen year-old boy seeing his first pair of tits.

The man looked around the room. "Saw them people you's with leave." And wasn't he just a fucking sleuth?

"Yeah, but they'll be back. And I'm waitin' for my fiancé to get here." She shrugged, not entirely sure whether or not she'd mentioned the fact that she was engaged before he'd started spending his money to shove drinks down her throat.

His eyes did lift to hers then and she saw them widen slightly.

"Fiancé?" He repeated.

"'S what I said," she said nonchalantly. "Or do your _ears_ not work properly either?"

She didn't know why she was feeling this way. Why she was being mean – a little mean, anyway, at least by her standards. To someone who was essentially a stranger. Why the alcohol was making her feel woozy but not dulling any of the anger or irritation or bitterness in her tone nor her emotional landscape. And those feelings weren't just confined to her voice – no, she'd actually be okay with that. They were strung inside her body, like Christmas lights or a livewire, waiting for something to ignite them so she could burn.

He huffed an irritated breath in her face and his lips curled into a grimace.

"Fuckin' _bitch_ ," he hissed. "Fuckin' _cock-teasin_ ' bitch."

He made to grab her arm but she moved it away easily. Lazily, almost.

"Think _that's_ me bein' a bitch, then go 'head and see what happens if you try to _touch_ me." And her voice was light, disinterested even. She'd been around enough in the bar scene – at her friends' and coworkers' insistence – to know how to avoid situations like these. Or get out of them, should they occur – mostly thanks to her smart-ass mouth.

And the asshole took the bait, surging forward and wrapping his arms around her middle. And she'd almost forgotten about the wound she'd incurred the previous night from Nelly, but she was quickly reminded when one of his thumbs pressed heavily and forcefully right on that very spot. And as she tried to struggle away, she found that she was limited by her lack of breath and the impact of the pain there that slowed her limbs. And it felt like she was being kicked all over again, the way her breath rushed out of and away from her even as she chased it with her nose and her mouth.

"Not so tough now, are ya, ya little bitch?" Brent hissed, pressing his lips up against her neck.

And she could've screamed, because for anyone watching, it could've very well appeared that they were just necking or embracing or something. They'd been sitting together – amiably – for a while, talking and even laughing a bit. But she wasn't about to make a scene. Not when all she needed to do was just catch her fucking breath and –

She felt her middle being released from Brent's harsh grip and she took a moment to suck in a few deep, slow breaths before she heard his voice.

"The _fuck_ you think you're doin'? You fuckin' _touchin_ ' her?" She heard Daryl's voice, and it was low and serious and downright _scary_ , even to Beth, who'd heard him several times throughout their past at what she thought had been his angriest.

She lifted her head up and forced her eyes open as her breaths evened out and she saw Daryl yanking Brent up by the collar of his shirt. And then he _tossed_ him onto the floor, like he was weightless. Like a twisted, scumbag Raggedy-Andy.

"Hey! Knock it off or you're both outta here!" Wade yelled, leaning as much of his plump body over the bar as he was able.

Daryl spat at Brent's writhing body and then he crouched down and got right in the fallen man's face.

" _Don't_ come in here again, you fuckin' piece o' shit. An' you better _pray_ she ain't hurt."

Wade came waddling around the corner of the bar, partially helping Brent to his feet even as he lightly shoved Daryl backwards and away.

"You're fine, Daryl. Cool it. Just check on Beth Ann, a'right? Gonna get him outta here." And then he was ushering Brent out of the bar.

Daryl grabbed Beth's arm, pulling her down and off of the barstool, and she didn't have time to protest or ask questions, because soon he was tugging open the door to the one unisex single-stall bathroom in the place. He whipped her around his body and into the small space of the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

"Lift it up," he said, breathing heavily and flicking his eyes from her face to her middle. She couldn't see any blood on her shirt. But his eyes were serious and focused and cold yet heated and angry and simultaneously like he could be working under the hood of a car or punching a hole through a brick fucking wall.

"I can check it myself, Daryl," she muttered, suddenly feeling dizzier and altogether less edgy than she had been. And maybe the effects of the alcohol were finally starting to make an appearance.

"Let me see it, Beth," he said, and his tone was more demanding. He lifted his eyes to hers, and they'd changed yet again. And there it was again. _That_ look - the one that made her want to curl up into a fetal position or weep or rip his fucking clothes off or maybe all of that, at the same time.

She leaned her backside up against the sink, unwilling to initiate or engage in another fight. She truthfully didn't have the energy.

He stepped closer to her, hovering over her – towering over her – and he kept his eyes cast down expectantly.

She lifted her shirt up and, though they'd been in a similar position the previous night, she somehow felt more exposed.

She looked down and saw a small ring of blood seeping through the gauze dressing he'd applied the previous night. And it wasn't that bad, really. She thought that it could wait.

But, of course, Daryl didn't agree. He peeled off the dressing slowly and she was too drunk or tired or something to fight off the incredibly visible shiver that ran through her when she felt his warm hands brush up against her skin.

He reached above and behind her to grab a paper towel and curved his arm around her body to wet it under the sink against which she was leaning. And he didn't speak. And he didn't meet her eyes.

But he sunk to his knees, face directly in front of her abdomen. And she couldn't do a damn thing to stop the hot rush of liquid that she felt beginning to soak her underwear.

There would apparently never be any curing her of _that_. And the alcohol wasn't helping, she knew.

He wrapped a hand around one of her hips, steadying her, and maybe himself, as he used the other to gently swipe and blot and apply pressure with the paper towel to try and stop the blood that was still gushing from the small wound.

She sucked in a breath and tried like hell to ignore the overwhelming sensation of his hand on her bare skin. But it felt like fire and ice and danger and _him_. And faded images of him – long ago – licking along and biting at the sharp edges created by her hip and pelvic bones and the sounds of his breathless moans began to relentlessly assault her mind.

"'S bleedin' pretty bad," he murmured. And his hot breath on her already-overheated skin did nothing to subdue the silent war that was occurring inside her mind.

"Yeah?" She asked, though she hadn't really heard him.

"Might need to run out to the farm or somethin', get it cleaned up better. Can't be bleedin' an' drinkin'. Drinkin' just makes the bleedin' worse an' bleedin' just makes the drinkin' worse." He stood up then, lightly using his hand on her hip as leverage. He kept his other hand pressed up against her middle. And he smirked a little, she thought.

"Serves me right," she sighed, finally able to delineate her mind from her body. For the moment, at least.

"Don't be stupid," he said quickly. "Ain't _nothin'_ you could do that'd be reason for anyone to put their fuckin' hands on you."

And it meant something, she knew, coming from him. He'd had a shitty childhood and was abused – physically and mentally – by his parents. Only familial relationship he'd ever had, outside of her own family, was with his brother, Merle, who wasn't exactly brother-of-the-year material – this year, or any other, as far as Beth was concerned.

It'd taken him a long time to get past all of that. To get past the belief that he'd somehow _deserved_ the way he'd been treated. And, no, he wasn't a beacon of self-esteem. Still didn't see his own worth, as she'd discovered from their conversation earlier. But he'd transformed into an entirely different person from the time that Beth met him until they'd fallen apart. Maybe not a different _person_ , but a different – a better – version of himself. And she'd always liked to think that she'd had something to do with that. That her family – her father, especially – had had something to do with that.

"But," he continued, face more serious, "next time ya wanna damn drink, just ask _me_ for fuck's sake. Or Zach – I mean, or whoever the fuck you're with. Not some random dude just lookin' to get in your pants. You ain't that dumb."

"Got it," she whispered as she looked up at him, feeling a little silly about it all. That she'd put herself in this situation because she was pissed at this man – this man who was taking care of her and watching out for her and acting protective over her, even after everything they'd been through and everything he'd finally admitted.

"He comin' soon?" He asked, shifting his eyes back down to her bare belly, experimentally removing his hand and the paper towel briefly before pressing it back in place. She guessed she was still bleeding.

"Oughtta be," she answered, bracing her hands on the sink behind her. "And, look, Daryl. You don't have to give me a ride home. Don't expect ya to give Zach a ride, either. Maybe Maggie can ride with ya. I'm sure Zach can drive their truck home, if I can teach him how to drive a stick." She laughed a little, thinking of Zach attempting to master the necessary coordination of hands and the pressure of feet for driving a vehicle powered by a manual transmission. Her daddy'd made all of them learn to drive a stick first before letting them even _think_ of driving an automatic.

He brought his eyes back to her face. Shook his head slowly. Just once.

"Nah, 's fine. I'm good with it long as you are. I was just bein' a jackass."

"No. I get it, Daryl." She kept her eyes on his, trying to get him to understand. He wasn't the only one that still felt it. Still felt something.

"Might be fun, actually," he said, smiling a little, mostly just with his eyes rather than his lips. "Ya helped me pick that bike out. If ya weren't so damn lit an' prone to accidents lately, I might'a even let ya drive it."

She laughed, then. And it was unexpected but as genuine as anything. She brought an arm up off of the edge of the sink and shoved lightly against his chest.

"Bullshit. Only time you let me drive it was when you were literally too drunk to stand. Still don't know how ya didn't fall off'a that thing and die," she laughed.

He smiled then, with his lips and his eyes. And he maybe even laughed, just a little, somewhere in the quick wave of the exhale that left his mouth.

He removed his hand and the wet towel again, this time lifting it up completely. He knelt again, wordlessly, and his other hand returned to its previous position on her hip.

He inspected the wound closely, blotted it a few more times. And she should've expected it, after the previous night. Should have known and somehow prepared herself. But her mind was a mess and she hadn't expected to feel the warmth of his breath again as he started to blow against her skin - to dry it, she assumed.

And then she fucked up. Badly. But she couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it, not when she hadn't even felt it – hadn't felt any of this – coming.

And she cringed inwardly even as she heard the release of her own breathy, needy, quiet moan, which occupied the entirety of the empty space left in the bathroom. And she may've even cursed or breathed _god_ or _Daryl_ or something. And it'd happened before she'd even had the chance to recognize the inner workings of it inside of her.

And, though she prayed that he hadn't, she knew he'd heard it. Because he paused. Just for a moment. He didn't say anything, but his hand squeezed her hip a little harder and she resisted the next sound that she knew had been coming before it could escape her.

And then he inched his face closer. Just slightly. And she wanted to thread her fingers into his hair and slam his head against her body and beg him to bite her and lick her and taste her but she couldn't.

He started blowing again, a little softer this time. Like he didn't want to hurt her – physically or otherwise. And he stopped fairly quickly. And she expected him to stand up and ignore it and her reaction and just reapply the damn dressing and leave her in there so that she could collect herself or cry in shame or touch herself until she came.

But he didn't. Instead, he slowly leaned his forehead against her bare skin, right above the wound. And she could feel his breaths, deep and heavy and loud, against her. And, _god_ , they were only human. She was only human.

And on an impulse driven by nothing that she was able to fully comprehend, she lifted one her hands and curved it, hesitantly, around the back of his head. She mindlessly rubbed formless shapes and patterns there, in his long and unkempt hair, pressing further down to his scalp underneath.

And then she felt his lips press into the lacerated skin. And she didn't know what was happening. Or if she was cheating on her fiancé right now. Or if she'd even tell him about this. If she'd tell anyone about this. If she should feel guilty – which, yes, the logical part of her brain knew that she should.

But some other part of her – a part that was growing stronger by the second – knew that they both needed this. This one small moment, after all of the other moments that'd happened over the past twenty-four hours.

And then they fucked up more. Because his tongue, hot and wet and so distant yet familiar, flicked against the scrape. Against the skin surrounding the scrape. And it was hesitant at first but then grew in fervor, like he was lost and needed this to find his way. Like he was dead and this - _this_ \- was the only way he'd find any peace. A deep sound that was something between a groan and a sob exited his mouth just as his tongue did. And just like his tongue, the sound sent a shock from her belly to her heart to her core.

And she was squirming and pushing his head harder against her, and maybe she was sobbing a little too – for so many reasons. For how _wrong_ this was. For how _right_ it felt. For how much she missed him. For how angry she was. For how much she loved him and always would – even if he drug her bare-assed through hot coals or castles of ice or carried her to hell.

But finally, and with what appeared to be a profound and nearly-palpable amount of effort, Daryl jerked his head backward. Suddenly. Jerkily. Away from her. And she was breathing so hard and so _helplessly_ turned on that there was nothing she could do but stare at him and try to regulate her breathing. Try to ignore the invisible marks he'd left with his tongue – marks that she could feel, hot and wet, all over.

" _Fuck_ , Beth," he breathed out with an uneven voice, rocking his weight back and onto his heels.

"'M sorry. Shit, I'm sorry." His eyes were wide and his mouth was partially open and his chest was heaving in time with his labored breaths.

He stood then and let his arms hang limply at his sides. And she could see a spot of her blood near the corner of his mouth. And when his tongue came out and he licked it – lapped it up like it was meant to be inside of him – she felt a sharp, distinct aching in her cunt. And he closed his eyes momentarily and released a sigh, and it reminded her of the face he'd made after licking other parts of her, before. And she didn't quite feel shameful about how wet she was, how slick her inner thighs were just then.

" _Fuck_. I – I'unno – I'unno what the fuck just happened. I'm – shit, I'm sorry," he repeated, biting at his thumb while maintaining a decent amount of distance between them. He was pacing a little and his eyes were shifting from hers to her wound to the floor to the door of the bathroom and back again. And she hadn't really moved yet. And no fully-formed thought had really entered her mind yet.

"'S okay," she said quietly, picking up the gauze dressing that he'd removed and reapplying it as best she could over the wound on her stomach. She pulled her shirt back down, hoping that the tingling sensation on her skin would be rubbed away by the fabric. "'S not your fault, Daryl."

" _Jesus_ ," he muttered. "The _fuck_ am I doing?" Beth wasn't quite sure if the the words were meant more for him or for her or neither or both. Or if he'd meant to voice them at all.

"It's okay, Daryl," Beth repeated in shaky voice, trying to assemble inside her mind what'd just transpired here. "You – you just – you cleaned my wound, made it stop bleedin'. You helped me. That's all. Okay?"

And she wasn't quite sure why _she_ was trying to comfort _him_. _He_ wasn't the one engaged to be married to one person and moaning for another in small, nasty bar bathrooms.

And it wasn't as though she felt what'd happened _hadn't_ been wrong. A lot of shit that'd gone down today hadn't been exactly _right_. And she'd deal with it.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For takin' care of me." And she knew she wasn't just referring to the wound care. And she only hoped that _he_ knew it, too. That he'd be able to hear the words that she _hadn't_ spoken.

"'S all I've ever wanted to do," he replied in a whispered voice of his own. And she knew he knew.

Beth let her eyes linger on him for a moment longer. And then she walked out of the bathroom.

Xxx

Beth returned to the bar quietly. And she quickly spotted Maggie and Glenn sitting at a corner booth. Glenn's eyes were closed and his face was pained and he was shaking his head and Maggie was turned toward him, talking quietly.

Beth stopped by the bar to grab another beer, since, for all intents and purposes, she'd mostly sobered up. And she heard Daryl exit the bathroom a few moments later.

She was standing behind the filled stools surrounding the bar, waiting for Wade to deliver her drink when she felt the presence of someone behind her. And before she could turn around, the person had covered her eyes with his – or her – hands. But they felt like the hands of a man. Not Daryl's, not quite. And definitely not Zach's. And Glenn probably couldn't even have walked over here at this point.

And then she heard his raspy voice, right in her ear.

" _You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips_ ," he crooned. And, god, the asshole still couldn't sing his way out of a wet paper bag.

She felt a smile form across her face, in spite of herself and her continual emotional turmoil.

" _And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips_ ," she finished. "And that ain't a lie. You need to get you some lotion, stat, Merle Dixon."

He released his hands and she turned around to meet the face of the older Dixon brother. And he was smiling. And he looked older, but, in all honesty, much better than the last time she'd seen him – physically, at least.

"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes, girly. An' I damn near just went home for the night. Thank the lord above for my _goddamn_ addictions. C'mere. Give big brother some o' that sweet Beth Ann love." And then he was pulling her towards him forcefully, lifting her up and into the air by her hips and swinging her around in an overstated, theatrical fashion.

"The hell _you_ doin' here, sweet thing? Ya lookin' just as fine as ya always have." He winked and pressed a kiss to one of her cheeks.

And, yeah, she didn't think much of him in general. But, throughout the course of her relationship with Daryl, the two had bonded. And by bonded, she meant that he'd developed some kind of respect for her over time. Because she called him out on his (frequent) bullshit. And didn't shy away from his grossly sexual innuendos, which he generally inserted as often as possible in _any_ conversation.

"I had a free weekend," she started. But he'd grasped her hands and she could see the curiosity blooming over his features – which were rougher than Daryl's.

"The fuck's this?" He asked, yanking her left hand up and in between them, staring down at the ring on her finger. And Merle had never been one for tact. Or bullshitting. He was honest and expected honesty, and that had always been one of his more humanly and admirable qualities. But he was also impatient. And jumped to conclusions. And -

"Holy _fuck_ , did he _finally_ do it?" He continued, cutting off Beth's attempt at an explanation. He dropped her hand without another word and jogged toward Daryl, who was waiting for his own drink at the other end of the bar.

Confused, Beth turned her head towards them. And she saw Merle hurl his body into Daryl's, wrapping him up into a tight embrace and even picking him up and swinging him around in a fashion similar to how he'd greeted Beth moments earlier.

And she could see Daryl shaking his head and trying to explain but Merle was loud. Anything that Daryl lacked, Merle more than made up for. He was dragging Daryl behind him as he returned to Beth's side.

"I am – oh, _sweet fuckin' Jesus_ – I am so happy right now. Fuckin' _finally_. You need t' wait an' see her again 'fore ya found your fuckin' balls, _Darylina_?" Merle laughed, patting Daryl on his back with one hand and pulling Beth tightly to his body with his other arm. "When's the goddamn weddin'? Gonna make you a Dixon yet, girl!"

"Merle," Daryl growled, flinching away from his brother. "If ya'd fuckin' _listen_ to me you'd o' known better. Ain't – _we_ ain't."

Merle's expression changed then, almost comically, from one of actual delight to confusion and anger.

"The fuck you mean? You mean t' tell me –"

"I'm engaged to a guy I've been seein'. In New York," Beth said quietly, not quite meeting Merle's eyes. "His name's Zach. He's gonna be here soon. We – uh – we just got engaged recently and I wanted to bring him here to meet my family."

Merle's mouth was slightly ajar and he blinked a few times as he processed what she'd said.

He dropped his hands to his sides and cut his eyes to Daryl's. And they'd always had this - some kind of silent language. At one time, it'd infuriated Beth, that she didn't know what passed between them in those looks. And she wasn't infuriated now, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit that she was curious.

She saw Daryl shake his head – so, so subtly – and shrug his shoulders. Merle nodded then, dipping his eyes to the floor.

"Good for you, sweetness," Merle said, lifting his eyes back to Beth's. "Congrats." His voice was quieter – as quiet as it could get, for Merle – and his tone was lacking in the enthusiasm and excitement with which it'd been saturated only moments earlier.

"Thanks, Merle," she said, forcing a smile.

"Got your beer, doll!" Wade's voice interrupted the conversation – or lack thereof – that'd become almost uncomfortable. There was a certain energy radiating off of Merle – his voice, his stance, his eyes, or something else entirely – that was almost choking her.

"That'd be me," she said quietly as she turned around and pushed through the drunken people sitting at the bar to get her drink.

And when she turned slowly back around to face whatever else might be in store for her, the Dixon brothers had migrated back towards the other end of the bar. And Merle was standing close to Daryl, talking at him with a kind of terseness that she didn't need to actually _hear_ to know. And Daryl had a thumb in his mouth and his other hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans and his eyes were on the ground.

Beth sighed and walked over to the booth at which her sister and brother-in-law were sitting. She was ready to leave. She'd experienced enough excitement and heard too many confessions – and not just those from others, not just ones that were necessarily _spoken_ – and participated in enough morally-questionable activities today to last her a lifetime.

Xxx

Another thirty minutes passed before she saw Zach finally enter the bar. He was still wearing his dressy clothes – the only kind he really owned – but she could see spots of mud and a small rip in the fabric just below the breast pocket.

But he was smiling when his eyes found hers among the small crowd of people.

She walked over to him - trying not to draw any undue attention, because she wasn't sure how she'd handle it, after everything - and he held his arms out wide for her. She pressed her body up against his, wrapping her arms around his middle as his circled her upper body, and inhaled the various scents that didn't belong to him – forest and pine and sweat.

He pressed his face down to hers and she could feel his smile against her skin.

"Missed you, babe," he whispered, placing a kiss on her cheek. And she wasn't quite ready to let go of him. Because an overwhelming pain had begun to form behind her eyes, and it sent shocks down and through her and suddenly made her want to cry and scream and run away from everything.

"Missed you, too," she murmured against his shoulder. And as she took in a few breaths to calm herself, she couldn't stop her mind from forming comparisons between the lean shape of his body – and how it felt against her and how she felt against it – to the solidity of Daryl's.

The thoughts startled her so severely that she released him and jumped back and away from him in the same moment. And he didn't appear to notice. He was still smiling and his eyes were now scanning over the bar.

"Maggie and Glenn are sittin' back there," she mumbled, half-turning so she could point him toward the booth. Glenn was at least sitting up and appeared to be coherent now. And he was drinking water (or something clear, at least), so that was promising.

"Great," he said. "I'll go and sit with them. I didn't get to talk to Glenn much this morning. Mind bringing me a drink?"

She nodded. "What ya want?"

He turned and looked over the bar for a moment. "Uh, well – do they have scotch?"

Beth smiled a little as she shook her head. He was just so clueless and out of his element, and she wondered how her father had responded to that.

"Okay well, then, I – I mean, you know what I like, babe. Just get me whatever." He pressed a light kiss to her lips and then walked passed her.

When she saw that he'd settled in the booth next to Glenn, she made her way back up to the bar.

Some of the other people had cleared out, most making use of the pool table or dart board or faux dance floor, so she took a seat at one of the barstools.

"That him?" Merle was suddenly beside her. And his face lacked its usual haughtiness. His eyes were boring into hers, almost imploring her.

She tried to brush off her initial surprise at him - at his face, at his question - as inconspicuously as possible.

She nodded. "Yep. That's him."

Merle turned his face away from hers and toward the back of the room. And Beth took the moment to look around the room, and found that Daryl was nowhere in sight. Probably outside, she figured.

"Beth Ann," he said, lowering his voice. And it wasn't like Daryl's. Not at all, save for the swearing and thick southern drawl. Its pitch was higher and it was altogether hoarser and it carried with it an air of confidence – or arrogance, depending on the context – that Daryl's had never had. "I gotta tell ya somethin'. Ain't seen ya in years. Ain't got no cell phone or no internet, else I'd o' told ya 'fore."

Beth swallowed thickly, not sure whether she was willing or even _able_ to hear anything else. Not today. Not now. But something in his face and his eyes and his voice was just too enigmatic for her to ignore, so she nodded her head at him, granting him her permission – though he likely would've gone on with or without it – to continue.

"Just keep it 'tween you an' me, li'l sis," he said, lowering his voice more, pressing his face closer to her ear. She nodded again, almost imperceptibly.

"Baby bro's a fuckin' mess." And she almost snorted, because that was definitely not any kind of breaking news to her. "Has been. Since ya left."

"Yeah?" She breathed, feeling hot bubbles of anger in her gut. "And whose fuckin' fault is that, Merle?"

He nodded, casting his eyes down briefly before bringing them back to her face.

"I know, darlin'. He didn't just push ya away. He _shoved_ your ass out the door. An' none o' that was right. But none o' us could get through t' him. Not then, anyhow."

"What do you mean ' _none of us_ '?" She asked, cutting her eyes to her sister, who was laughing at something Zach was saying with his mouth and, by the looks of it, his hands.

"Don't matter. I just gotta tell ya, 'cause I know he never will. An' ain't right. For ya not t' know."

"Just fuckin' spit it out," she snapped, keeping her voice quiet despite the anger and confusion that were quickly shifting into something more like impatience and exhaustion.

"He came up there. To New York. Twice that I know 'bout. I's with him once, 'bout a year after ya left. Got to your place an' he couldn't do it. An' I gave him hell. Wouldn't let me go an' find ya, neither."

Beth felt her heart drop – though she knew that was anatomically impossible – into the pit of her stomach. Daryl had come to New York? For her? And she hadn't known about it?

"Last time, I knew somethin' happened. It wasn't that long ago, I don't think. Thought ya'll'd talked or somethin', way he was actin'. Wasn't convinced that it were anythin' good, but he seemed different when he came back."

"When?" She breathed the word out, fighting back the bile rising up and into her throat. Trying to remember to breathe. Trying to remember _how_.

Merle shook his head and twisted his lips into some kind of grimace. "I'unno for sure. Was thinkin' it had to be this past winter. Maybe six, seven months ago. Went by himself. An' maybe he tried goin' other times, but he told me 'bout this here last time. Told me he couldn't go on, livin' this way, not knowin' if you's a'right. Not knowin' if ya knew that all this was just a big fuckin' mistake."

Beth's eyes were still on Merle's face, but she could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest in her periphery of her vision, and just the effort to breathe seemed to cause her entire body to contract and relax and tighten and fatigue.

"Know this ain't the best time to tell ya, darlin', an' I'm sorry 'bout that. But I love him. An' it's been hell, watchin' this. Ain't himself no more. Just existin'. Hangin' out with your daddy an' takin' care o' your horse an' bringin' home bitches that he don't want nothin' to do with. Thought he might'a been – I'unno – on the upswing o' things. But I's talkin' to him earlier an' he was dead behind them eyes o' his. Like it's gonna start all over again."

Beth didn't know how much longer this conversation could go on. She needed to get Zach a drink and, honestly, she needed one for herself. She wasn't even fully comprehending any of this. She couldn't. It was too late and too much and not enough and everything and nothing - nothing at all because she was engaged and in love with someone else.

"Darlin'." And now Merle's voice had changed again, and the edges of it were soft, almost gentle. "Ain't askin' ya t' do nothin'. Ain't tellin' ya this so you'll leave everythin' an' fix my brother. Just – just needed ya t' know. Needed it for you much as I needed it for him. 'Cause, damn, I love ya both." He scrubbed a rough hand down Beth's head, tracing a strand of hair from its root to its end, and then turned on his heel and walked out of the bar.

Beth stood for a few moments, motionless, still facing the now-empty space beside her where Merle had been standing, where he'd just crushed her soul in ways she didn't know were even possible. She heaved in a deep breath and wiped her clammy hands on the front of her jeans, feeling the heavy weight of her engagement ring as it slid along the denim. She blinked several times, trying to reconcile this new information with everything else she'd learned and discovered today.

"What ya need, babe?" Wade's voice somehow reached her through all of her scattered thoughts. And she kind of wanted to hug the man for that.

"Oh, uh, d'ya have any scotch?" She muttered, taking a step closer to the bar.

He laughed a little, high and chirpy, as he shook his head and shot her look like she'd just asked if he'd gift her with a time machine.

"Just gimme whatever ya got that's – I'unno – fancy, I guess. Make it look fancy, at least. And I'll have a beer, please."

He produced the drinks a few moments later and Beth was satisfied that she hadn't let her mind wander too far away from the present. From the now. From herself, just standing there, ordering a drink for herself and her future husband.

She grabbed the bottle of beer and small glass of iced-down amber-colored liquid – she didn't even ask what it was – and headed toward the back of the bar.

Xxx

"One drink an' we head home?" Maggie asked, stifling a yawn.

Beth was milking every drop of her beer. She tried to engage her mind in the conversation – which was mostly just Zach, talking about his day with Hershel. She could tell he was faking his enthusiasm when he spoke about the day's activities, which included a trip to the shooting range, a brief (and unsuccessful) fishing trip, and a hike through the wooded areas surrounding the farm. He didn't delve into anything specific that he may've discussed with her father, only commented at regular and almost-predictable intervals that he was _"such an amazing man_."

She tried to keep her eyes off of Daryl, who'd just returned from what she guessed was either a long smoke break or a simple moment to himself (and she envied that). He'd taken a seat at the bar and Merle had joined him shortly after.

"Oh, hey, isn't that Mr. Dixon?" Zach's voice pierced through her thoughts. And it shouldn't have been any surprise, because of course she'd heard _that_. He'd mentioned _him_.

"Mr. Dixon!" Zach yelled through his hands, which he'd cupped around his mouth. And his words were a bit slurred, which made Beth feel a little guilty because she probably should've asked Wade what kind of drink he'd made for him.

Daryl's and Merle's heads turned around, almost at the same time, toward the back of the room. Zach was waving his hand now, gesturing for Daryl to join them.

With some kind of reluctance – which was probably invisible to anyone except Beth – Daryl climbed down off of the stool, Merle on his heels, and walked over to the table with a slow but controlled gait.

Maggie jumped up from where she sat next to Beth almost instantly, taking a seat on the side of the booth next to Glenn and Zach.

"Mr. Dixon! I'm so glad to see you again," Zach said, extending his hand. "God, if there's one thing I learned today, it's that Hershel _loves_ you, man. I almost felt inadequate, the way he spoke about you. He thinks and talks of you as a son. So it's almost like I'm going to be gaining _three_ brothers-in-law instead of two!"

Beth choked a little on her drink at the implications. And as she tried to minimize the aspiration of the fluid into her lungs, she glanced at Maggie.

Maggie leaned forward with narrowed eyes and a half-smirk across her face. "Be careful, Beth. Wouldn't want the wonderful _Mr. Dixon_ to have to give ya the Heimlich." Beth gave her a smug look and a middle finger and finally stopped coughing.

Daryl's expression was unreadable, but he briefly shook hands with Zach.

"Sit down, please," Zach said, waving his hand at the empty spot next to Beth.

Daryl glanced at the space – after briefly locking eyes with Beth, who scooted herself over and closer to the wall to give him room, because, honestly it'd be a little suspicious for her to deny Zach's request – and then sat down with a quiet sigh.

"Howdy, there, folks," Merle said, voice sounding much more like it always had. "I'm the _other_ Mr. Dixon. The better-lookin' one." He smiled widely and took it upon himself to grab Zach's hand. And the handshake was far less friendly than the one he'd shared with Daryl – Beth could tell by the way Zach's lips twitched, just a little, after Merle released his hand.

"That's Merle," Maggie groaned. "The bane of all of our existences." Glenn laughed a little, coming back to life.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Merle. I'm Zach, Beth's – "

"Yeah, yeah, kid. I know," Merle cut him off, grabbing a chair from an empty table adjacent to the booth. He flipped it around backwards and sat down, folding his elbows across the high back of it, and leaned forward.

Zach's brows furrowed and his were lips turned down at the corners and Beth was certain now that, if he hadn't already been offended today, it'd finally happened. And she felt a bit of relief that it'd been at the hands of Merle because, really, it wasn't uncommon to be offended by the crass man.

Merle began drilling Zach with questions. About his upbringing. His work. How he and Beth had met. And Beth had mostly zoned out, at least from the conversation.

She was acutely aware of Daryl's body – and the heat radiating from it – next to her. How tense his shoulders were. How he was pretending to listen. How he was pretending that he wasn't just as aware of _her_ beside him.

She doubted that Merle had told him that he'd told Beth about his trips to New York. Wasn't like Merle to do that, unless he were being spiteful. And she felt like their relationship had changed drastically over the last few years. That Merle wouldn't do things with the sole intention of hurting his brother, not anymore.

But she knew now. And the information had flipped her world upside down on its axis. Because _why_ hadn't he told her about it? Especially when he'd been so forthcoming just a few hours ago. Especially when, for all he or either of them knew, this could be his last chance to tell her.

She needed to talk to him. Maybe it wasn't right, either – but she could mull over that later, and she surely would - along with the several other questionable things that'd happened. But she couldn't go back to New York tomorrow knowing this and not knowing why he'd omitted that information. Why he'd come, why he'd left without seeing her. What it meant – then or now or tomorrow or next week.

"We should probably go, guys," she said quietly.

Glenn nodded. "Please. We've been here for an embarrassingly long time. An' I've embarrassed myself enough for one day. An' Mama Greene's makin' supper."

They stood up and prepared to leave. Zach had been surprisingly fine with riding back to the farm with Glenn and Maggie. And why _wouldn't_ he be? They were his future in-laws. Beth should've felt ecstatic and overcome with love and all of the other emotions surrounding the beginnings of a loving relationship between her family and her future husband, but her mind was skewed by guilt, which still wasn't gnawing at her as sharply as it probably should've been.

"See ya'll in a li'l bit," Beth waved as Glenn – who was thankfully now sober enough to drive – and Maggie and Zach pulled out of the parking lot.

"C'mere, Beth Ann," Merle said. He wasn't leaving but had followed them outside to see them off. Daryl was standing off to the side of their triangular formation, kicking the gravel around with his boot with his eyes trained on the ground.

Beth went to him and she was _seriously_ losing her shit, because she felt tears stinging her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Merle's shoulders and pressed her face into the side of his neck. And tiny, uncontrollable sobs were raking through her body, shaking her shoulders.

He squeezed her tightly and ran a hand through the hair that cascaded down her back.

"I love ya, baby sis," he said quietly, and his own voice was a little rough. "Always have an' always will. An' life's what ya make of it. Y'ain't gotta do nothin' that don't feel right. Always gonna have us an' your family. Gonna love the shit outta your spunky ass 'til the world ends."

He released her and backed up a step or two, though his hands remained latched onto her arms. "Things don't work out with country boy, ya know ol' Merle's always here. I'm a good lay." He winked. And it was playful and exactly like she remembered – when he'd tease her and Daryl, when he'd say, _"glad you're gettin' her warmed up for me, baby bro"_ and, _"the older the Dixon the better the dicks are"_. And she didn't have it in her to shoot any kind of witty retort at him, not now. But she smiled and told him she missed him and loved him, too.

And after the brothers waved each other off with mumbled " _later_ "s, she followed Daryl to his motorcycle.

Xxx

Beth was feeling like she really should've put some more consideration into this entire riding-home-with-Daryl situation. Because just the sight of him on that bike made her insides tense up.

They hadn't spoken. Not since the bathroom, really. Or, she guessed, not since during Merle's inquisition, though she didn't really count _that_ as them talking. And the silence wasn't exactly uncomfortable. But it was thick and full of something – questions, answers, feelings; she didn't know.

Her legs were shaking a little as she swung one over the side of the bike, crawling onto the back of it. And she remembered what he'd said – about not being able to think about her body up against his and her thighs around his torso – and she knew her face was flushed.

She scooted herself forward, straddling the bike, and pushed herself up against his back. Because that's what motorcycle passengers were supposed to do. She couldn't just _not_ hold onto him – though she'd entertained various scenarios in which she could maybe lean backward and hold onto the hot panels of the bike. And she knew that, even if she tried not to, he'd insist.

The roar of the engine and the sound of the wind _whooshing_ around her was loud enough to dull her thoughts for a while. And she hadn't been on a motorcycle since she and Daryl had been together. And she fucking loved it. Always had. She was scared, maybe, the first time. But he was experienced and smooth and in control, always. So she let herself enjoy the distantly familiar rush of adrenaline that was singing in her blood.

But she wasn't letting this - _them_ \- end with a meaningless bike ride home and a silent goodbye. She couldn't.

So when they were about halfway home, she squeezed her arms – which were wrapped around his middle – as tight as she could to get his attention. And his abdomen tightened and she almost made a noise when she felt the defined ridges of the contracted muscles there.

She leaned forward and pressed her head onto his shoulder and her mouth was inches from his ear. And she'd been about to yell at him, to ask him to stop, when he turned his head back toward her – and the action caused her mouth to make contact with the shell of his ear.

And that had effectively accomplished what she'd been trying to do, because he skidded the bike to a stop. They were out in the middle of nowhere. Some country road that was surrounded on either side by the high stalks of corn. It was almost like a tunnel, except for the black but clear and starry sky above them.

"Sorry," she said quietly when he cut the engine. "I was gonna ask you to stop anyway."

"The hell for?" He asked, climbing off of the bike after he'd slanted down the kickstand with a boot.

He stood a few feet away, watching her face. Waiting. He didn't seem or look impatient, though his words sounded that way.

She swung one leg over the bike, remaining seated on it. Turned her body fully toward his. And she was momentarily distracted by the calming sounds of the insects chirping and the crunch of the gravel beneath his feet and the smell of the ripening crops.

"Need to talk," she said simply.

"So talk," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. And this was his defensive stance, she knew. She knew. Probably thought he'd done something wrong, because that was the way his mind worked. And she let herself admire the effect the position of his arms had on his muscles, which were silhouetted beautifully by the dim light of the moon and the shadows created by the tall stalks behind and in front of him.

"Actually," she said, redirecting her attention to her purpose. "I think _you_ oughtta be the one talkin'."

"The fuck ya want me to _say_ , Beth? Ain't I said enough?" She cringed a little at the exhaustion in his voice.

"I want you," she said, briefly pausing, trying to decide how to form the words she was about to say. "I want you to tell me _why_ you came to New York. And _why_ you didn't tell me 'bout it."

He was silent, just staring at her. And the rate of his breathing had increased, just slightly. And his eyes weren't static. He looked uncomfortable but there was a softness somewhere in his features – and understanding – and that gave her the confidence to push him. Because maybe that's what she should have done before. Maybe that's what she should've been doing all along.

"This is it, Daryl. This is all we got. Don't you understand that? Don't you fuckin' _get_ it? I _felt_ it. I _feel_ it, too. And I'm _so_ fucked up right now, but if you don't – if you don't _wanna_ talk about it. Right _here_. Right _now_. Then you're never gonna get to." And she'd let a little of the frustration she'd been feeling for the last half of the night creep into her voice. Because it _was_ frustrating. To be so fucking confused. To want to know something just as badly as she _didn't_ and _couldn't_ want to know it.

He sighed, then. And the look on his face matched what she was feeling with an unbelievable likeness.

But he stepped toward her and pressed a shaking hand to the side of her face. And she let him. And maybe she leaned into it, just a little. And she knew, then, that he was going to talk.

He looked at her with those eyes – those icy, fiery blue eyes that could kill her and give her life and take everything she had and give her everything she'd ever wanted – and opened his mouth to speak.


	4. i miss it all ()

_**A/N: I am obsessed with you. All of you. Thank you for your reviews and comments. It motivated me to get this done tonight, though I had originally planned on going forward with the next piece of plot in this chapter (SINCE IT WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE 5 CHAPTERS, BUT I WARNED YOU THAT I LIEEEE!). So hopefully you are all satisfied by it and I pray to jeebus that it meets (at least to some extent) all of your expectations.**_

 _ **Summary: Daryl & Beth talk. And things get blurry in Beth's mind - but can we blame her? This has all happened in the course of approximately one day (which IS realistic, speaking from personal-ish experience). **_

_**Anxious to hear your thoughts.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 4: i miss it all (from the love to the lightning)**

Daryl backed up a few paces after letting his hand rest steadily against Beth's face for a few silent minutes. Fished his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one.

Maybe he was stalling or working up his courage or something, but Beth wasn't all that concerned. Something in his eyes and his stance and the curve of his mouth – none of which could be described to any extent by any particular emotion or expression – told her all that she needed to know; that he was going to talk. He was going to be honest. He was going to hurt her or heal her or maybe both, maybe more.

He flicked his wrist at her, silently offering her a cigarette and she took one, ignoring the faint image of Zach that flashed like a bolt of electricity through her mind - rolling his eyes and huffing "Beth, did you cheat again? I can smell the smoke on your breath" - because she'd given up the habit a long time ago. Not long after she'd given up the habit of waiting. For Daryl. To change his mind or get on his knees and scream that he loved her, and that he'd lied, and that he wanted her.

She watched as the smoke from the ends of both of their cigarettes and from their exhales curled around in the air. And she pondered if anyone would be able to tell the difference between hers and his, because - although they were different and individual and unique and came from entirely different places - sooner or later, somewhere high above them, they'd mingle and mix together into one deadly concoction, poking holes in the ozone.

She was still sitting on the seat of his motorcycle with her trunk leaning forward and her elbows resting on her knees. And he was still standing a few feet in front of her, in the road, and the way he was standing and holding himself made it appear as though he wanted to run away or run straight into her, maybe like he wanted to forget her or fold himself inside of her and just exist there - or maybe all of those, all at once. And though it was dusk, she could see his eyes. And they were concurrently full and distant and distracted yet so close and open and vulnerable that she physically _felt_ the volatility. And she wondered if any single part of him was actually what it seemed. Had ever been what it'd seemed.

"I didn't tell ya 'cause it doesn't matter," he said, finally, in a quiet, rough voice. "Wanted to. Ain't ever been one for lyin'. Only other time I ever lied to ya in the last ten years was when I said I didn't want ya anymore."

Beth didn't respond despite the words – or maybe they'd just be nonsensical sounds – that were clawing at her vocal cords, climbing up and into her throat and her breath. Her chest tightened and she flicked her cigarette into the field behind her before adjusting her arms so that they were circled loosely around her jean-clad legs, which she'd hitched up by her feet onto the side footplate of the bike. So that if she'd need to hug herself or stop herself from trembling or crying or exploding, it wouldn't be much of a stretch. It wouldn't _look_ like anything directly related to whatever he might say. To however he might hurt her. Or to however her own thoughts might hurt her.

"First time I went up there it was 'bout a year after ya left. Merle came with me. Insisted. Said he couldn't live with me no more, the way I was actin'. The shit I was doin'. Sayin'. You sent me that message – that one with your address. Right after ya left. Remember? Even after the way I treated ya. Never responded, but I kept it. Asked Maggie if you'd moved or anythin'."

She sucked in a breath. So Maggie'd had some inkling. Had everyone been lying to her? Withholding this? Not even giving her a chance to decide what to do with it, if anything at all? Wasn't that her right?

"We got there. Drove by the buildin' – your buildin' – few times 'fore I started throwin' up. All over Merle's car. I – just. I _couldn't_. Didn't know what you'd say. Didn't know if ya'd moved on an' was happy. Didn't know if ya'd wanna see me. Didn't think I could handle it if ya didn't."

She blinked at him when he met her eyes. And she tried to keep her face and her expressions neutral, because she didn't want to scare him off or scare away the words that she needed to hear. To understand. She could ask questions later. She nodded a little, encouraging him to continue. Because she understood that much. The fear of rejection. The fear of praying for one response and getting something else entirely - something that was the exact _opposite_ , if not worse. She'd lived it. Survived it. And she was almost _glad_ that he'd felt something – even if only remotely – similar to that.

He dropped his eyes to the ground and his hair fell across his face. He kicked some of the gravel, drew some shapes in it with the tip of the boot. Fidgeted with his hands. And she knew this part of him, too. Knew it like she knew herself. Like she knew all of his other personas and moods. His body was fighting against his mind and his heart. His body was telling him to tighten the armor that shielded him from feeling anything, anything painful. And he was trying to push himself through the resistance. And that alone was admirable, even if she'd practically had to force this out of him.

"Merle tried to get outta the car an' walk up to your place, but I whipped a knife out on him an' told him I'd cut his balls off if he even so much 's touched the door handle. Guess it – guess that's how much I wasn't ready."

And she felt a wave of hurt and disappointment flow through her body, because how could he _not've_ been ready? After a year. Three days apart and she could've sworn, at the time, that she'd been dying. Not of a broken heart, really, though she knew that was a thing. No, her death was caused by something more like an irrevocably damaged soul – a soul that'd lost its other half, its only reason for existence. And the rest of her body systems just gave up and shut down right along with it. Because it'd never just been emotional or sexual or mental – their connection and the loss of it – it was physical and spiritual and just as much _surrounding_ her – externally – as it was _inside_ of her.

"Next time was 'bout a year after that. An' I didn't even make it outta South Carolina 'fore I turned around an' came back."

And now her gut was churning and her organs and breaths were twisting into those knotted, bloodied braids – reminiscent of those that she'd often worn in her hair when she was younger. But _those_ braids had been hopeful and innocent and delicate and as bright as the sun. And _these_ were burnt and uneven and as dark as her soul had felt, back then. Back when he wrecked her. Back when he killed that girl she used to be.

And, if she really thought about it, she guessed that she wasn't being entirely fair. _She_ could've come to _him_. She could've driven home, forced him to see her, forced him to talk to her. And had she known Merle and Maggie and Glenn – and who knows who else, at this point? – would've supported her and been on her side and helped her, helped them, maybe she would've had the courage. But she'd felt, at the time, like she was drowning in a cruel sea – and the monsters and killers beneath its depths weren't giant lizards or sharks but rather the sharp, cracked edges of herself or who she'd once been and the rejection and betrayal and lies, so many lies. And he wouldn't even respond to her. Didn't answer her calls or reply to her messages or answer her tear-soaked prayers that she'd cried into her pillow every fucking night. It was like he and they had never even _existed_. Like it'd all been in her head. Like he hadn't felt anything. And she felt it all.

So instead she'd spent her days – for months that bled into years – walking around like a dead girl - like she were missing half her brain or half her heart - and her nights pretending – and almost wishing – that she was just a shadow on the wall – never dreaming, never hoping for anything. Just a projection on a wall. Just an opacity or reflection of something that _actually_ existed or had once existed. Because she couldn't remember what that felt like. To exist. Because who was she without him? Who could she ever be?

And her momma had told her, " _It's for the best, Bethie. You're too young for all o' this. Ya need to have a life o' your own 'fore ya start givin' things up for a man_." And Maggie had said, " _You're better off, Beth. Ya got so much to offer, an' if he don't want it, then it's his loss_." And she wondered now why she never thought to ask any of them what they'd said to _him_.

"Third time was six months ago." His voice interrupted her thoughts. And this time it sounded distinctly uneven. Like the friction created by the gravel underneath his feet and the ribbed undersides of his boots. Like the rutted landscape created by the various heights of the stalks of corn that stretched out behind him.

And she squinted her eyes a little so that she could see his face more clearly. She _needed_ to see it, like she needed her next breath. And the pain was there, in his eyes and his lips and the angles of his jaw, long before he uttered his next word. Like just _thinking_ about the words or what he was going to say physically hurt him.

"I parked the fuckin' car. Way down the street, by that park. Far 'nough away that once I got past a certain point, if I turned 'round, I knew I'd just keep walkin' in circles, way my mind was. Made it there eventually, talkin' to myself like some crazed fuckin' lunatic. Sat on the stoop outside your buildin'. People throwin' pennies at me an' shit like I was homeless, an' I kept 'em." He paused and ducked his head and kicked the toe of his boot forcefully into the road and bit on his thumbnail for a moment.

And then he looked up at her – and her heart ached. He looked just like a lost and desperate little boy. Like he'd looked when she'd first met him. He tilted his head to the side and rolled his shoulders backward in a way that looked like a shrug but felt like a resignation. An acceptance.

"'Cause I thought, in a way – in lots o' ways – that they was right. Without you, what do I really got? Kind'a was. Kind'a am. Homeless."

She held his gaze as long as she could - until she couldn't. She looked down at her hands, which were clasped around her knees that she hugged tightly into herself. Tried to swallow, then, to tamp down the sudden and growing density lodged in her throat. Because it was choking her. And she might die, right here. Before she knew. But there was nothing there to swallow but pain and hot air. And she blinked her eyes, rapidly, even as the burning sensation started to well up inside of and around and behind them.

"Sat there for hours." His voice was quieter now, and to anyone else it may've sounded like he was closing up. But she knew it signified that he was actually opening himself and expanding and reaching out to her like a gentle hand. "An' then I felt my heart kickin' in my chest, buckin' in there, 'gainst my ribs, just like Nelly. Was weird. Was like – like my insides knew you was there before my eyes an' my brain did. Somethin'." He shook his head then. Took another breath.

"An' I looked up an' finally. _Finally_. Saw ya. An' ya were that same girl. Same girl I've loved for ten years, wearin' them black leggins o' yours an' a puffy yellow coat an' a white hat - an' that made me feel some kind o' happiness that I ain't never felt before. 'Cause ya were always such – such a little _pansy_ , whinin' 'bout how cold your damn ears were, an' I knew that it – that New York, its shitty weather – it had to be the coldest damn shit ya ever felt in your life. But you were walkin' down the street like ya had no fear. Like ya'd been livin' there your whole life. Like a damn goddess."

She couldn't remember the exact day about which he spoke. But every word that he'd spoken was true, she knew. She owned every article of clothing he'd mentioned. She forced herself to make that place feel like her home. Because, for all intents and purposes, it was. It had been. Was it still?

She laughed a little, and it sounded wet even though she didn't feel any tears leaking down her face. Not yet. They were there – in her eyes, almost vicious, almost threatening, in their attempts to jump overboard and spill out and over her bottom lids. But she blinked them back and tried to be strong. For him. As strong as he was being, for her. Right now.

Daryl wiped a little at his face, ran a hand through his hair from the front to the back. Averted his eyes from her face and looked down at his hands. And he was rolling the fingers of one in the palm of the other. Roughly. Like he needed to feel _something_. Something else.

"You were with him." His head bobbed a little – maybe nodding to himself – as he continued. And his voice was shaking, just slightly.

"Didn't see him at first. Almost called out your name. Almost went runnin' toward ya. Almost got down on the ground on my fuckin' knees to kiss your tiny fuckin' feet. Even though ya got weird toes." He smiled a little, but it wasn't overtly happy. It didn't feel happy as it lingered on his face and in her mind and didn't make her _feel_ happy.

"But ya'll – you an' Zach – ya stopped walkin' for a minute. An' I heard ya laugh. An' it made me wanna fuckin' die or cry or kill him or somethin', 'cause it sounded like how ya used to, when ya'd laugh at me. With me. An' I bunkered down for a sec, watchin'. Just to make sure you was – I'unno – guess to make sure you was okay. That _he_ was what you – that you wanted to. But he wrapped his arms around ya an' ya took his face an' pulled it to yours – an', _fuck_ , I remember the way ya did that. How tiny but strong your li'l hands can be, when ya want somethin' bad 'nough. Heard ya tell him ya loved him. Heard him say it back. An' I – "

He'd started pacing, and his eyes didn't return to hers for several moments. They were on the ground, up in the sky, in the invisibility between them, watching intently yet forcefully and violently looking away from the memories, all at the same time. And she was shaking, because she, too, was watching. And she _couldn't_ look away. And she didn't want to. Because she'd seen it a million times, from her own eyes. Zach's boyish face, his full lips, his perfectly-disarranged strands of hair. But now. Now she was watching it from _his_ eyes. Listening to it from _his_ ears. Feeling what he felt – before, during, and after. And she wanted to ignite the filaments of her imagination, and maybe his, too, and watch them burn. Together. Watch them incinerate into nothing and fall into a pile of ashes on the ground. Wanted to kiss them goodbye as the wind carried them away from her. From him.

"I couldn't, Beth. Ya looked so fuckin' happy. Last time I'd seen ya was when I ruined both our fuckin' lives. When I broke your heart much as I destroyed my own. When your face an' eyes was red an' wet an' you were beggin' me to try. An' I _couldn't_. So I just – when ya'll were – _busy_ an', whatever. I just took off, runnin' across the street. Got lost tryin' to find my stupid fuckin' car. Wandered 'round like a stray fuckin' dog, an' that's all I really am, Beth. Was a mutt before, but now I'm a stray an' it's all I've been since I fucked everythin' up. Since I just fuckin' let you – since I made you go. 'S all I'm ever gonna fuckin' be. Just lucky your daddy has a soft heart for the homeless, keeps lettin' me come over."

She didn't have a fighting chance against the determination of the tears in her eyes, and they burned so badly behind and against her skull and deep in her throat, so she finally just fucking gave in. With a whimper and a shuddering sigh, she let the dam break open; let them spill over and run down her face and her neck and onto her knees.

He stepped towards her. Slowly. And his shoulders were rising and falling with the efforts of his breaths. And his eyes were shining in the young moon's dim light. He put his palm against her cheek, like he'd done before he'd started talking. Before he'd told her - _too late too late too late_ \- that he'd _tried for her_. Hadn't just wanted to, but he'd actually tried.

"'S why I didn't say anythin'. Wasn't never plannin' on it. 'Cause, Beth. None o' this even matters. An' I wish Merle wouldn't o' said nothin', an' I can't apologize for him – never been able to. Ya know that. Ya know him. But _I'm_ sorry," he whispered in a shaking voice, and his thumb was tracing linear paths against her skin, over the top of and adjacent to the hot trails of her tears.

She looked down, then, because she'd never stop crying and wishing and dreaming if she'd kept her eyes on his face. And her eyes, lost as they were, landed on his chest for respite. They slid over the solid plate of bone of his sternum and the solid muscle overlying and expanding outward and downward and upward from it, underneath his clothes. And she thought about what he was protecting under all of that armor. And, of course, it was his own heart. He was only human. But it wasn't _just_.

"It _does_ matter," she whispered, entranced by the rise and fall and ballooning of his ribcage beneath his sweat-soaked shirt.

She lifted her eyes back to his face. And his head was cocked a little to one side. And she saw the faintest sheen of moisture near the outside corner of one of his eyes. He shook his head at her in repetitive, small, barely noticeable amplitudes of movement. Like he wasn't just responding to _her_. Like he wasn't just trying to persuade _her_ , to change _her_ mind. But more like he was trying to convince himself. To remind himself. To reinforce everything he thought that he knew. And she wanted to laugh – if only she could, and would she ever again? – and tell him that _that_ was a pipe dream. Because he didn't know a fucking thing. And she didn't, either. And maybe neither of them ever had.

She felt his thumb, still lightly stroking the skin of her face, circle closer to the corner of her mouth. And then he was almost tugging at it. And her lips fell apart and her breaths came more quickly, because it – _all_ of this – felt more intimate and meaningful and intense than the dance they'd shared or the tenderness he'd shown while caring for her wound.

The man she'd spent ten years loving and counting – because she was done lying to herself, at least for the moment – had just told her everything she'd been longing to hear for so, _so_ long. And he was vulnerable and lost and homeless and angry and jealous and argumentative and stubborn as shit, but he _still_ shook her fiancé's hand and watched after her horse and her daddy and _forced_ himself, every day – every single day that she'd been gone – to stay in her life. Even if she hadn't known it. Even if she never would've known it, if she hadn't come home. Even if it hurt him. Even if it killed him inside, knowing all that he did. Regretting all that he did. Loathing himself for not being able to _try_ or try sooner. Before it was too late.

"It fucking _matters_ , Daryl," she said. And she'd tried to make her voice hard, but it was breathless and muffled by her own tears and snot.

He shook his head again and looked at her like he would give or do or kill _anything_ to believe her. He kept one hand on her face, like it was all they had and all they'd ever have again, and reached his other down to where hers rested across the front of her knees. And he grasped her left arm and picked it up and positioned it in between them, letting her hand – her ring – dangle from the top of her knee and down in between them.

And she sobbed loudly as she watched him stare at it. As she watched the muscles of his jaw clench and the corners of his lips twitch and the muscles of his throat rise and fall as he swallowed. Because she could feel everything he felt, right then.

And she wished so badly that she could just _say_ it. But what good would it do? He had to know, anyway. _Had_ to know, just because of how he knew her, that she was still hopelessly in love with him. Even if she were only just now admitting it to herself with some kind of mild reluctance. Even if she'd have denied it. Even if she'd taken an oath in a court of law or a house of god that she wasn't.

It'd only hurt him – both of them – more. If she told him, right now, that she'd go home with him and stay with him forever. Because he'd said himself that he _couldn't_ and _wouldn't_ be what she wanted him to be. And she wasn't even really sure what that was. Not anymore. She didn't know if she belonged here or there or if she could have roots and wings or if she could just fly south for the winter.

He dropped her arm lightly back down into her lap and brought that hand up to her face, joining his other hand. And he cupped the back of her head with his fingers and wiped her tears with the rough pads of his thumbs. Traced her face, her bones, her light-colored vessels and the arches of her eyebrows and the wisps of her eyelashes as if he were committing it all to memory. As if that'd be all he'd ever have left of her. Of them.

And what could either of them say? She thought she'd have a million questions, but she didn't. She only had one. And she wasn't entirely sure that it was for _him_. Or that she was ready to ask it.

"I love you," he murmured, spreading the warmth of the pools created by her tears laterally and over to the sides of her face and into her hair. And she'd heard him say that a thousand fucking times in the past decade. She'd never doubted the fierce truth of it – not until he'd told her to leave. Not until she'd thought he'd just moved on like it all meant nothing. Not until she made herself believe, with her whole heart, that he'd made her vanish – from her own life as well as his. Not until she'd ceased to exist and they'd ceased to exist.

"When Zach came back to the bar earlier," she whispered, just allowing herself to voice whatever was in her heart and mind and soul – and she could give him her own bit of honesty, now. It wouldn't help anything. But there was nothing left to hurt.

"And he – he hugged me. All I could think 'bout was that it – that _he_ \- didn't feel like you. Not just his body, I mean – it just – it didn't feel like anythin'. And I'm scared, Daryl. That nothin's ever gonna feel that way again. The way it feels with you."

His thumbs had stopped moving when she'd spoken; both had paused mid-way between the lower arch of her cheekbones and the corners of her mouth. Like he needed to _feel_ her words, as her muscles and tongue formed them, instead of just hearing them.

"He ain't never felt like me 'fore," Daryl said quietly, roughly. "So why's it gettin' ya all twisted up now?"

"'Cause I – I'unno – I guess I must've just – blocked it out. The way you felt. The way we felt. 'Cause one day – one day, I had it – I had you, I had everythin', and then the next day, I didn't. And you might'a been a stray dog, Daryl Dixon, but I was a zombie. The walkin' dead. For months. Years, maybe. And then I met Zach and – I know it's never felt the same. Not the same as it did - with you. But it felt like _somethin'_. Somethin' other than my whole world bein' taken away and my heart bein' ripped to shreds over and over and over. And then I came back here and – it's just – it's _not_."

He stared at her. Into her.

"It's not gone, Daryl." She breathed the words out in a heavy, weighted exhale.

And he shut his eyes and squeezed his lips together and took in a few noisy, chopped breaths through his nose. She felt the pressure of his thumbs on her face tighten infinitesimally.

And when he opened his eyes, they were steadier than she'd remembered seeing them. They were searching and hoping and fearing - pushing her away but pulling her into him, all the same, with the sheer intensity of the crawling black threads melding into the depths of the various shades of blue - confused but absolutely certain.

"What's not gone, Beth?" He was breathless. Urgent. Like he _needed_ to know as badly as he _didn't want_ to know – like knowing meant death and _not_ knowing meant life without parole.

And she knew. He was searching for verbal affirmation. Confirmation. Out loud. His greatest fear and his wildest dream to come out of her mouth. And she wasn't ready to give him that. Not with her own voice. Not yet. Not now.

"You know," she said, keeping her eyes on his – willing him to understand. That she wanted to say it. Wanted him to hear it. But she was so relieved that she couldn't speak; so glad that he didn't hear.

And his eyes were exotic, synchronized dancers darting from one of her eyes to the other. Looking for something. Looking for nothing. Looking for everything – the meaning of life and the mysteries of death and what they'd done and what they could still do. And it wasn't over. It couldn't be.

He made a frustrated sound, which had invaded the heavy silence that'd fallen between them, and it came from the deepest parts of his throat. He moved a thumb closer to her lip, tugging at the corner of it again, pulling, like he wanted to open her mouth for her, force her to speak. Force her to tell him. Force her to save him.

And she just barely saw the very tip of his pink tongue as he briefly moistened his lips as he kept his eyes on her mouth. Her mouth that'd kissed his lips, once upon a time, and licked the muscles of his stomach and sucked on his cock like she'd been starving for it.

And, _goddamnit_. God _damn_ it. She was only human.

She felt the sudden rush of wet heat that pooled from her belly to her cunt to her underwear. And it didn't startle her as much, this time. But she was becoming overwrought and fucking desperate and stretched taut – from his words and his skin and his fucking eyes and everything that he was. Everything that he wasn't. Everything he'd never be.

And when his thumb circled again and tugged at the edge of her lip, she turned her head and caught it in her mouth. And it was like nothing and everything she'd ever wanted. Everything she'd been missing was there; in his skin, laden with sweat and salt and the jagged ridges from where he'd bitten it.

She didn't bite down. Just held it there, trapped in the heat of her mouth by the pressure and force of her muscles, in between the rows of her teeth and the inner surface of her cheek.

His hands and his body and his eyes had stilled, all at once, like someone was telling him – the stray dog inside of him – to _stay, boy. You can stay. You belong here._

He exhaled audibly – fucking strained – and his bottom jaw dropped slightly as the air rushed out of his mouth and into her face – and she smelled smoke and beer and something faintly minty. And she wanted with a mindless passion to taste it.

And then he slowly – _so slowly_ – pushed his thumb in a little further and his head tipped back, just slightly, and a heady glaze dripped over the blue of his eyes. She dug her nails into the denim of her jeans and the weight of her engagement ring on her fourth finger diminished to nothing more than a wistful tingle against her skin.

And when she contracted the muscles of her cheeks and created suction there in the chamber of her mouth, sucking his thumb in deeper – to where it belonged, to where it could find a home – he groaned. And it wasn't overtly sexual. It was relief. It was awe. It was so tender that it made her sob, out loud, and her teeth popped open and his thumb was pressing directly into her tongue. And she caressed his skin – his rough, ruined skin – with it, slid over it in messy circles, drawing it in deeper into her mouth. Into her. And she bit down, _hard_ , and somehow hoped that that action would ebb the growing ache between her legs.

"Beth, _fuck_ , - we can't – _oh_ god-" he whispered through gritted teeth. And he slid his other hand down from her face and wrapped it around the slender cords of muscle in the column of her neck. And it wasn't gentle, the way he pressed his other thumb into the space between her muscle and her trachea as she continued kissing and licking and biting at the skin of his thumb. Where she knew his mouth had been so many times. When he was nervous or ashamed or jealous or thoughtful or surprised. And she didn't think he was trying to stop her. Or maybe he was. Everything was blurred. Wrong. Right. Past. Present. Need. Want. Love. Lust.

It took all of her effort, but she lifted one of her own arms off of her legs – and they were moving a little now, almost rocking, one pushing as the other one pulled – and she draped it across his shoulder. Just to anchor her. Just to keep her grounded. To help her remember that this was real. And they probably should've been concerned about the motorcycle and the possibility of it toppling over, but it didn't fucking matter. _This_ did. He did. What he'd done – what he'd told her – mattered.

And he stepped closer and she parted her legs, without so much as a second thought, so that he could stand between them. And she found that she, yet again, didn't quite know what the fuck was happening. All she could think of and imagine and see through her tunneled vision was his eyes and his lips and his body and that he'd _tried_ and that he fucking loved her and he always had and he was a fucking lying asshole.

He yanked his thumb out of her mouth suddenly, startling her, bringing her back down to earth. For a moment. Until he stuck it into his own mouth and sucked, mixing her saliva with his own.

"Oh, _Jesus_ \- Daryl," she whispered, and her voice was edged with urgency and dripping with need, " _goddamnit_. I can't - So hot –"

He remained silent, though his eyes were astute, and he removed his thumb from his mouth with a quiet pop and held it out for her, just inches in front of her lips. Giving her the option. An out. And she wanted to laugh in his, because she'd never had a choice. Still didn't.

She surged forward, grabbing his hand with both of hers, and brought his thumb back into her mouth and kissed it as though it'd been his mouth instead. With a passion and intensity she could say with total honesty she hadn't felt in years. Like she could grind against his fucking leg and come in her pants, just as long as he kept looking at her like that. Just as long as he kept thrusting his thumb into her mouth like it was his dick into her pussy. His hips jerked forward and he groaned again, like he couldn't help it. Like he couldn't control it. And, really, could either of them?

She released his thumb and moved to stand up, and – as had been the norm – she didn't have any semblance of a plan. She didn't know if she was planning on climbing up his body like a fucking tree or throwing him onto the ground or just pushing her body against his to revel in how _right_ it felt, how right she _knew_ it would feel –

And then the sound of her loud, obnoxious ringtone pierced through the night. Through their heavy breathing and whispered curses and violent prayers. Through them. Through this.

"Shit." She stared at him a moment longer, but he was already backing away, shaking his head as if it'd all been a dream. As if he'd done something wrong.

She dug through her purse and quickly grabbed and answered her phone.

" _Where the fuck are you, Beth_?" Maggie's voice was a rushed, angry whisper on the other end of the line.

"Oh, uh – hi, Maggie. We – uh – we're almost there." Beth cleared her throat and swallowed – and this time, there was so much more than pain and hot air trickling down her esophagus. There was him and her and them, on her tongue and in her throat and pumping through her veins.

He was pacing again, there in the middle of the road, and she leaned against his bike, watching him and still aching for him, as she waited for Maggie to respond.

" _Get your ass here. Now, Beth. Momma's pissed an' thinks you're wasted an' gettin' arrested or assaulted an' daddy's teachin' Zach how to load a shotgun an' they're gonna come lookin' for you_."

"Jesus, Maggie, a'right! Just tell them we're on our way. I'll be there in ten fuckin' minutes," Beth snapped.

" _Yeah, fine. Daddy wants to talk to your man, by the way, an' I ain't talkin' bout Zach. An' you better check the fuckin' mirror, make sure you ain't got no Dixon love bites on your neck 'fore ya walk in this house. An' chew some gum, a'right? Hurry. The. Fuck. Up._ "

The line went dead.


	5. i'm tired of words, too hoarse to shout

**_A/N: Okay, I posted this last night (er, well, at 3AM) and was too tired to add a note. But I wanted to say thank you to anyone reading & reviewing this thing. I read each and every one of them - multiple times, in fact - and can't thank you enough for continuing to motivate me to write with *your* beautiful words. _**

**_Looking forward to hearing what you think._**

 ** _xx_**

 **chapter 5: i'm tired of words and i'm too hoarse to shout**

"Ugh, _Spiteful Bitch_ ," Beth muttered, tossing her cellphone back into her purse, which was hanging haphazardly from the grill extending from the back and sides of Daryl's bike.

She sighed and lifted her eyes up and to him.

He didn't show any obvious recognition that Beth was still here – or in the same universe, for that matter – as he was still pacing, there in the road, kicking up the rocks with his boots like they'd pissed him off somehow.

She didn't quite know how to feel. The moment – or several moments – that she and Daryl had shared and the emotions thrumming within it had overtaken her – and not for the first time over the past twenty-four hours. And she'd gotten physical with him. She'd initiated it when she covered his thumb with her mouth. And it wasn't anything she'd planned; though it was decidedly uncanny that her brain - mindless and uncontrollable as it'd been - had gone _there_ , remembering and knowing all too well that this man had a thing about hands and fingers and mouths and oral fixations. Even if she hadn't once been able to identify any conscious thought during those moments. No conscious thoughts except for _want_ and _hot_ and assailing memories of him - fucking her and shoving his fingers in her mouth, and her biting down and biting so hard – sometimes to muffle her moans, sometimes because she needed a tangible, animate outlet to the physical sensations he'd always been able to make her feel, and sometimes to give him the pain that he'd always favored as a side platter to go with his serving of pleasure.

Not that he hadn't been getting physical with her, too - the way he'd been cupping her face and stroking his thumbs along her skin, tugging at the corners of her lips like they were the strings of her heart. And there'd been the dancing. And the bathroom.

She'd never once pretended - even to herself, even in the blackest corners of her mind - that she wasn't still attracted to him. But, somewhere along the way, she'd lost her ability to control her own reactions to the physical attraction. And so had he. And that, in itself, was a _lie_. Because this wasn't just all physical. Not for her. Not for him. And she _knew_ it.

She was starting to feel the weight of an invisible yet immense and dark cloud of guilt pressing down onto and into her. And he seemed to be feeling it, too. He was feeling something that he couldn't – or wouldn't – voice, at any rate.

She pictured Zach, sitting happily at her parents' home, awaiting her arrival. Not thinking anything of her tardiness despite knowing that she was with Daryl. He wasn't a suspicious or jealous guy - not that she knew of - though she'd never given him any reason to be either of those. She'd never told him about Daryl – about her and Daryl's past. Their relationship. As far as he knew, Daryl was like a "son" to Hershel and that, by default, made him like a "brother" to Beth. And just the thought of that made her a little queasy.

But, overall, things could certainly be worse. She didn't doubt the staying power of his trust, – hard and fast and almost suffocating as it was – not now anyway, because he didn't know any different. He didn't have any reason not to trust her. And, hell, she couldn't be certain that she knew any different, because even if she'd wanted to, she wouldn't have even been able to _begin_ to explain any of this to him.

"I'm so confused," she whispered. And that was it. The bottom line. She couldn't make it any simpler. Any truer. What questions should she've been asking herself? She'd already admitted – to herself, anyway – that she was still in love with Daryl. Though she was certainly a questionable judge (as of late, at least since she came back here) of love - what it was and how it felt and what it meant.

Her eyes were following the noisy path of his feet as he paced and stopped and shifted his weight and kicked the gravel and then did it all over again. And again and again and again.

"I'm a shitty person," she added, mumbling. "I can't believe – can't believe what I've done. What the hell did we do?"

"Stop." His voice was quiet but firm.

She felt her eyes growing wet again, and _Jesus Christ, would she ever stop fucking crying_? What would crying solve? What had it ever solved? _Poor Bethany Ann Greene, with her Master's Degree and her cushy job and her successful, handsome fiancé and her boring, beige apartment in New York City – boo fucking hoo_ , she thought.

"Ain't like we fucked. Ain't like ya told me you was in love with me an' not him." He interrupted her self-mockery, as though he'd known exactly what she was thinking – as if he'd known the shapes of the letters and the sequences they'd formed inside of her mind.

She considered his words, and, yeah – they were true. To some extent. They _hadn't_ fucked (but had she wanted to? Would she have?). She _hadn't_ told him that she was in love with him (but she'd thought it, those exact words). And if the situation were reversed, how would she have felt? She tried to picture Zach, struggling and warring with himself over the confusion – the utter fucking confusion – of coming face-to-face with someone he'd loved in the past. Someone he might've still loved. Someone he might've loved more than he loved Beth. And she wasn't overcome with any one emotion as her mind painted the picture. And that unsettled her.

"Daryl, I'm so confused," she repeated, voice becoming desperate. Because he was the only person who could help her right now. Only one who knew everything – _everything about everything_ – about their past and their present and what they'd done and what they might've done if her sister hadn't called her – and, fuck, they needed to go. They needed to get back to the farm.

But she kept her feet planted. Because she'd spent so long running away – staying away – from her fears. "I'm so scared. Scared that this is the last time we're gonna – last time we're gonna talk. Or be alone. Or be – just. Just be here, like this. And I thought I'd have so many questions, after what Merle told me. But it's like I – like my fuckin' head's so full that it just pushed 'em all away." Or maybe it was her heart. Too full. Too confused.

She lifted her eyes to his, and he'd finally stopped fidgeting. And he stepped forward. Closer, but not too close. Not as close as he was, before.

"I got one," he said, eyes dancing between hers. His head was angled down a bit so that she could see his face. So that he could see hers.

"What do you want?" He asked it as if he were asking her about the weather or if she had the time, but there was an undertone of fear and uncertainty - buried deep within his words and in the tone of his voice - that she didn't exactly hear so much as feel. And see - in the silent and subtle flare of his nostrils as he inhaled.

He kept his eyes on hers. And they weren't expectant. Weren't like he expected her to have a sudden, miraculous epiphany and scream out that, obviously, she wanted him – of course she did, and _let's go to the house so I can break off my engagement_. They weren't begrudging, like he'd hate her if she answered that she wanted Zach because he'd saved some part of her and made her feel alive again and _partially_ made up for some of the scattered or missing pieces of her life and her heart.

They weren't anything more than waiting. Patient. They were just as much _for_ her as they were _on_ her. Curious and accepting. And she realized, then, that this was his way of helping her; of responding to that desperation and urgency that'd been thick and heavy in her voice.

She had to dip her eyes down and away from them – away from his eyes – from the tiny but emotional sparks that were sporadically igniting under her skin wherever they touched. And, _damn_ the irony and the agony and the misery, because the first thing she saw when she looked away from him was the sharp, white sparkle of the diamonds that decorated the band of her engagement ring. She fisted her hand, concealing it from her vision and exhaled heavily.

"We gotta go, Daryl," she said quietly. "We gotta go."

He swallowed audibly and she looked back up at him. And the patience and understanding and acceptance hadn't abandoned the blue of his eyes. Neither had the fear.

"Are ya – do ya have to go? Tomorrow?" His voice was quiet. And she saw that little boy – or maybe it was that stray dog – there, alive but sad and lost, in his eyes. And they were too much, always had been.

She nodded.

And then he did, too. Slowly, and with such a gloomy acquiescence that it made her want to cry again. And maybe never stop, regardless of the lack of purpose.

He leaned his head in a little closer and it made her twitch - in her lips and her shoulders and her limbs - because she'd actually thought that he was going to kiss her. On her mouth. With his mouth. And she'd wanted to. But if they did that – she wasn't foolish enough to deny it – there'd be no turning back. She'd drown inside of his mouth, and maybe he'd swallow her and she'd only exist inside him. But she wanted to, right then. And she would've.

But then he whispered, as he inched so closely to her face, "wanna tell ya not to. Wanna ask ya to stay, 'nother day, 'nother two. Could talk s'more, if that's what ya need. Could stand in the road all damn day. Could take off on my bike, like we used to. Ya'd whisper which direction to turn an' I'd go an' we'd just see where we'd end up."

She arched and bowed her body backward – needing a bit of distance from him just then – just slightly. Because she couldn't very well do that. She couldn't stay an extra day, not when they had the plane tickets purchased and booked and the rental car that needed to be dropped off and Zach had to work Monday, though she'd taken the day off to rest a little after the trip –

"I'll – I'll pay. Him. Give him money for the old ticket. Pay for a new ticket back to New York. Drive ya to the airport. Help ya pack your fuckin' bags, if ya want. Fly there with ya, just to let ya go. Hail ya a taxi cab just to get ya home."

"What's the point?" She asked lamely, not entirely certain how serious he was. Of course, one point was that it'd be an extra day with her family, who she hadn't seen in so long and, really, hadn't seen much of even since she'd been here. And, before they'd left, she'd mentioned (and hoped for) an extra-long weekend to Zach, but his job was demanding, and Beth had admired his dedication and diligence and understood that this was all he could do. And she loved that. Loved him, for his willingness to have done as much as he had.

He shrugged a little. "Said ya was scared. Of never bein' able to talk again. Of never bein' alone with me again. Of it – of nothin' ever bein' this way. Tryin' to – I'unno. I'unno, Beth. I'm just as confused as you are."

She huffed, becoming increasingly anxious as the minutes they spent out there – and the minutes they spent _not_ back at the farm or even heading that way - continued ticking by.

"How the hell d'ya figure that? You ain't the one engaged and doin' – _this_ – with your ex."

"Still doin' _this_ , ain't I? Still _here_ , ain't I? Ain't gonna be no mistaken fuckin' affair for ya, girl. Too fuckin' old to be the _other man_ , an' I don't like sharin'. Not you. An' that's what it feels like I'm doin'. 'Cause you're here. Tellin' me ya _still feel it_ , that _it ain't gone_ , that you're confused." His voice took on a growling quality as he spoke to her. Like saying what he'd said had made him angry. Like simply _thinking_ what he'd thought before he'd said what he said made him crazy. Mad and crazy and jealous and, yeah – she could admit it – confused. But it wasn't the same.

"I am _engaged_ , Daryl. If ya would'a just gotten outta the fuckin' car. If ya would'a just fuckin' sent me _one fuckin' message_ – if ya would'a done _anythin_ ' – " she sucked in a deep breath, finally letting him (and herself – though she knew, but she'd never spoken the words out loud) know how stupidly _close_ he'd (and _they'd)_ been, "we wouldn't be standin' here right now. Or maybe we would, but my family wouldn't be angry and damn near callin' a search party for us. And he wouldn't even be here. Wouldn't even be in the picture."

"If that's how ya really think – really, Beth, _listen_ to yourself. You _don't_ wanna marry him. I can fuckin' _see_ it in your eyes. Can hear it every time ya fuckin' breathe. You leave an' – we don't get the chance to – to even finish this, or talk it out s'more, or somethin', then you're gonna go back to New York. An' you're gonna marry him. You're gonna be fuckin' _miserable_ , 'cause he don't know ya like I do. He don't make ya feel the way I do –"

"Well, aren't you just the humblest fuckin' man in Georgia?" She was seething now. He'd admitted he'd fucked up, in the beginning. But why – _why, for fuck's sake, why?_ – could he not admit that he'd fucked up even more recently? Within the past year. And she didn't even know if any admission of his would or could change anything, but then to try and predict her fucking future and tell her what she _wanted_ – what the fuck did _he_ know about that? She'd wanted him. She'd told him that – screamed it, cried it, begged for it, died for it. For so long. And, yeah, maybe she did now, too. Maybe she still wanted him. But it was too fucking late.

"You ain't the person I'd go to for advice on what _I want_ , ya asshole," she snapped, her thoughts doing little more than pushing her and her anger – and every other emotion – off of the edge over which it'd been dangling. "Didn't seem to understand what I wanted when I was _screamin_ ' it in your fuckin' face. Didn't seem to understand it when I texted you and called you and cried over you for months."

He grabbed her shoulders and yanked her upper body into an upright position – and she was still leaning against the motorcycle – and placed his face right in front of hers. And when they both heaved in deep, angry breaths, their chests almost touched.

" _Tell me_ I'm wrong, Beth Ann. Tell me he makes ya feel the way ya feel when you're with me. Tell me he knows how to make ya wet an' beggin' without even touchin' ya. Tell me he knows 'bout your fuckin' dreams, all the bad ones an' all the good ones. An' where ya got that scar on your lower back. How to sneak into your childhood bedroom window without gettin' caught. When your momma's birthday is. Tell me he knows how addicted ya are to fuckin' peanut butter an' yard sales an' book stores an' pumpkin-flavored anythin'."

She couldn't. He didn't. He didn't know any of that. And so what? The two weren't comparable – ten plus years of history versus a little more than one year – and the year that'd passed since she'd been with Zach had been a very busy, life-changing, life- _making_ one. One that involved beginning careers and growing up and apartment hunting and moving - and _him_ , down on one knee, asking her to be his wife.

And maybe that was the answer. Maybe Daryl Dixon was and would always simply be her first love – her childhood love, the one that was wild and passionate and all-consuming, like a fire with flames – strong and hot and high - that crackled with danger and excitement and adventure while it lasted and left a thick, aromatic haze long after it ceased to exist.

And maybe Zach Johnson was her grown-up love. Maybe it wasn't as exciting. Maybe it wasn't filled with desolate passion and longing and desperation. Maybe it wasn't dramatic or life-threatening or rooted so deeply into her bones that even when she died, it'd still be there in the vacant channels of osseous tissue. Maybe it was the steel – cold but solid – of the fire, the pit that surrounded and would always – _always, always_ – outlast the flames that burned within its confines. It was safe. Secure.

"Ya gotta stop, Beth. Can't change it. What I done. Know that doesn't make it hurt ya any less. Doesn't make it hurt _me_ any less, neither. But know what? You're fuckin' successful. Got yourself a smart-girl job, got yourself a wall o' college degrees an' a head full o' education. All o' that – that stuff that was always so important to ya. That ya wouldn't o' had if ya'd stayed here." He released her shoulders, keeping his eyes on hers, and they seemed to have a force behind them. A belief. Strong and unyielding.

And when he said things like that, he manipulated and skewed the thoughts inside of her brain – and, one thought in particular: that what he'd done was selfish, so fucking selfish and cruel. But was it? Was it, when he said things like that? And she felt sure, then - sure as shit - that she didn't have any answers. Still didn't know anything.

"Let's go," he said gruffly, turning roughly and tossing a leg over the bike.

Xxx

The ride home was short. Beth wasn't actually overwhelmingly concerned about going home, despite the melodramatic picture her sister had painted when she'd called her earlier. She was an adult. And if she could explain what she'd been doing that entire time she'd spent with Daryl – which, no, she never ever could – she thought they'd understand. And if they didn't understand, they'd get over it. That was just how her family was. How they'd always been.

Beth kept her body pressed tightly to Daryl's, and she didn't feel guilty or weird or like she was overstepping any of the invisible boundaries they'd created when she leaned her head forward and onto his shoulder. And he didn't stiffen or flinch away or speak. She watched the road disappear underneath them, piece by piece, and the blurred images of the fields and trees on either side of her.

And just before he made the left turn to pull into the long driveway leading to the farm (and _thank god_ – it didn't appear that any cops had come to the house to collect information on the "missing" Greene girl; there was no search-and-rescue team forming or spotlights or helicopters - _and Maggie was fucking ridiculous_ ), he turned the headlight off and cut the engine of the bike. Began coasting, dragging his feet along the edge of the road as they slowed.

"What the hell? You ain't makin' me walk from here," Beth said, punching his shoulder lightly. And it was an instinctual move, one into which she hadn't put any thought before doing. A playful, instinctual move that'd been memorized by her muscles – and it was so strange. So strange that they could transition this way – from tense to awkward to angry to lustful to being just like strangers.

"'Sides, Maggie told me that daddy wants to talk to ya."

He stiffened a little in front of her, then. And they'd eased to a complete stop. The bike – and Beth – was held upright by Daryl's feet, which were flattened against the uneven ground beneath them – and they were stopped alongside the country's version of a verge, where a small island of patchy grass divided the road from the curved lip of rock that bled into the driveway.

"What's he wanna talk to me 'bout?" He asked it quietly. Nervously, maybe. And maybe that served him right.

"How the hell would I know, Daryl? Been slummin' it with you all damn night." And her tone was mostly joking. Although, if she were being honest, she was a little nervous, too, now that they were here. Nervous mostly for him. But it was an odd anxiety, because Daryl was like a son to her daddy. He loved Daryl – hadn't always, but their bond grew over time. When he'd seen, with his omniscient eyes, how happy Daryl made Beth – how happy they were together.

Daryl didn't answer. And the reason he'd initially stopped where he had – out beyond the driveway – was unknown and forgotten as he re-started the motorcycle and drove it up the driveway, parking it alongside her daddy's truck, which was aligned with the detached garage beside the old, large house.

She climbed off of the bike slowly, ignoring the tingling sensation that'd originated at her fingertips - where they'd been pressed against Daryl's body as she used him for leverage - and traveled clear up her arms and to her neck.

He followed her, silently, into the house.

And Beth had been so distracted by her own chaotic, disorganized thoughts that she hadn't even noticed that, apart from her daddy's pick-up, Daryl's motorcycle was the only vehicle parked in the driveway.

Xxx

"Daddy?" Beth called out as she and Daryl entered the house. It was really quiet.

Really, really quiet – too quiet – considering she'd been expecting Maggie, Glenn, Shawn, Zach, and her parents to be inside.

"Hello?" She called out again and shot Daryl a puzzled look over her shoulder. He shrugged.

They walked through the kitchen, and Beth could smell the faded aroma of her mother's spaghetti and something sweeter – maybe pie. The sink was full of pots and pans as evidence of her cooking, but the kitchen itself was spotless. And the dining room was completely empty.

"The hell?" Daryl muttered. "Where is everybody?"

"Parlor." Hershel's voice echoed off of the walls of the empty rooms of the house.

Beth paused upon hearing her father's voice, and she didn't know what the fuck was going on. She started to dig through her purse, looking for her cellphone, because where in the _hell_ would Zach have gone? And why wouldn't he have called her, texted her, something? And what the hell had Maggie been talking about – telling her that everyone was waiting and worried and getting ready to launch a fucking search party complete with shotguns to find her?

Daryl's body was suddenly right behind Beth's and he shoved his hands lightly into the small of her back, urging her forward through the dining room and the large, dark living room. He guided her, wordlessly and with the tips of his fingers, around the corner of the living room and into her father's parlor, which was a small, almost-hidden room nestled in the corner of the house.

Hershel used the room mostly for work; it was neutral-colored and minimally-decorated and when Beth was young she'd wanted to draw pictures for him and hang them on the walls because the room was so bland. But he'd denied her generosities and told her _"thanks, sweet baby girl. But it's easier for your ol' daddy to concentrate when there ain't much beautiful to look at. Give 'em to your momma."_

The parlor had also become, over the years, the room where Hershel lectured his children about important matters, such as grades and discipline and finances and college letters. And then it became the room where he'd formally introduce himself to his children's significant others, spouses-to-be, spouses. A room of education and tough love and secret talks.

Hershel was sitting in his favorite chair. Old, puffy, brown leather. He was wearing his glasses and his cane was propped up against the wall beside the chair. A small sofa lined the opposite wall. There were no windows, no closets – just a small corner desk and an old, dusty lamp.

He put down the book he'd been reading, turned his head to the doorway. Beth stood awkwardly in the frame of the door and Daryl was looming closely behind her. Hershel smiled at them.

"Doodlebug. Daryl. Glad ya'll finally made it. C'mon, now, come in. Sit down, kids."

Beth smiled briefly and walked across the room to the sofa, which squeaked under her weight as she sat down. Daryl sat next to her, but there was a decent amount of distance – as much as there could be on a small loveseat – between them.

"What's goin' on, daddy?" Beth asked, leaning her weight back. "Where is everyone?"

"They'll be back soon. An' we'll all eat. I wanted a chance to talk to ya. To both of ya, here together. An' then to you, son." He nodded his head at Daryl and his lips curved slightly downward.

"What is it?" Daryl asked, immediately defensive. His body tensed.

"Nothin' to get all concerned 'bout. Nothin's wrong. But I gotta make sure everythin' is _right_."

Beth furrowed her brows as her father spoke quietly. Cryptically. And the guilt that'd been weighing heavily on her mind and heart earlier, as she'd stood in the road with Daryl, was crawling its way up her spine.

Because the man was all-knowing. He saw things that no one else seemed to see. And maybe he knew what they'd been doing, what she'd wanted, what she'd thought inside of her own head – things she thought were safe and locked away and nothing more than her own painful secrets.

"Beth Ann. Can't tell ya how happy it makes me an' your momma an' Maggie an' Shawn to see ya. Takin' this opportunity to say thank you. For comin' home."

"Daddy, it ain't nothin' to _thank_ me for. You're my family. This is home. Always will be," she said quietly. And the guilt had climbed into her belly, and it was blooming there, like a flower in the spring, dizzying her with its growth.

"Well, it's been a long time. Too long for a daddy not to see his baby girl. An' I knew, with you goin' up to New York, that the visits would be fewer. But I never thought we'd go years without havin' you light up our lives. 'S been hard, ya know that. An' I know how hard it's been for you, too."

"I know, daddy. I'm gonna – I wanna try to come home more. Gonna have to, anyway, with the – well, when we get 'round to startin' to plan the weddin'." Beth's voice was shaky, and she felt like she'd disappointed him somehow.

"Well, now, that's what I wanna talk to ya 'bout, doodlebug. Now, I spent all day with Zach, an' I must say, he is a well-raised young man. Got his life all figured out, loves ya-"

"Don't mean to interrupt, sir," Daryl said, clearing his throat. He kept his eyes on the floor in front of him. "But, do I need to be in here for this?"

Hershel smiled, and it wasn't quite a _happy_ smile.

"Ain't _need_ to do anythin', Dixon. But I'd like it if ya listened to me."

Daryl nodded and readjusted himself on the sofa next to Beth, crossed a leg squarely across his other knee.

"Ain't no secret, you two got a lot o' – history. Good an' bad, but I like to remember the good. When ya get to my age, you'll 'preciate it more. You'll tend to forget all the bad stuff, an' ya won't miss it none. An' I remember, Daryl Dixon, when ya came to me, askin' for my permission to take my daughter's hand in marriage."

Beth gasped out loud and blinked her eyes several times, trying to process the words that her father had spoken. More new information. _More and more and more_. And what was she supposed to do with this? And - wait, _what?_ Daryl had done _what?_

And as Beth gasped, Daryl visibly cringed in a way that rippled out and along his limbs, elevated his shoulders, folded his body into itself.

"Uh- " Daryl mumbled, looking quickly toward and then away from Beth, who was having another out-of-body (maybe out-of-mind) experience. Like she were watching this all from above their heads, and she could see the pale walls and the pale carpet and the brown couch and sofa and the shiny skin on top of her father's head.

Daryl had asked her daddy – but _when_? And, what? What the fuck?

Hershel smiled again, seemed to soak himself in the unspoken words and the emotions exuding from across the room, from Beth and Daryl.

"One o' the best days o' my tired ol' life," Hershel sighed. "'Cause I ain't ever seen any two people more meant to be, meant to last - 'sides your mother and I, of course." He winked at Beth, who was now leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and her mouth gaping half-open.

"An' I ain't sayin' nothin' bad 'bout Zach _not_ askin' me first," Hershel said quickly – and that thought hadn't even occurred to Beth, not really. Yeah, she was raised in the south with certain expectations, but her parents were cultured enough to realize that not everyone – including their own children – would follow their exact paths, would exercise all of their same traditions.

"But, Daryl, do ya remember what I asked ya, when ya asked me if ya could have the honor of askin' my beautiful Beth Ann to be your wife?"

Beth turned her head slightly, looking over at Daryl – and she saw something else - maybe someone else, someone new - entirely. Something or someone she hadn't seen before. And she couldn't describe it – why knowing this had stricken her like a knife into heart, which had already taken an impressive metaphorical beating since she'd been home. And before.

He held his head up, meeting Hershel's gaze. His face was serious and his chest was rising and falling and he was fidgeting with his hands under all of the scrutiny of the two sets of eyes watching him.

"Trick question," Daryl mumbled. And Hershel laughed.

And Beth was confused. Hurt. Angry. Lost.

"Asked me three questions."

"Do ya remember 'em, son?" Hershel asked, shifting his body backward into the cushioned backrest of the chair, bringing a fingertip to his face to trace along the line of his jaw.

Daryl nodded subtly, and Beth's eyes wouldn't – _couldn't_ – have left his face for anything, at that moment. Not if her cellphone rang. Not if a meteor landed on the barn. She needed to _see_ , needed to _know_ – all of this, all of these things that'd been kept from her. By Daryl. By her family. Who else? All of these things she'd have never known about. And she'd ponder over that more later, because – deep inside – it made her feel something like _betrayal_ and maybe _anger_. And maybe that was unwarranted, but it was her initial reaction. And that's how she felt now, laced with curiosity.

Daryl cleared his throat, squirming a little beside her.

" _Why_?" Daryl said, extending one finger.

" _What promises will ya make to her_?" He continued, adding a second finger.

"And _why are ya askin' me an' not her_?" Daryl's voice tapered off as he listed off the third question that Hershel had – apparently – asked him in response to his proposal. His proposal to propose. To propose marriage. To ask Beth if she – _what the fuck_?

Beth's rate of breathing had increased and her eyes were seeing but _not seeing_. Anything. And, _oh god_ , was she going to faint?

"What the fuck –" Beth started, finally remembering how to speak as she jerked her head rapidly, back and forth, from her father to Daryl.

"Hold on, doodlebug," Hershel said, cutting off his daughter. And now she was on the verge of adding _offended_ to the list of the things that she was currently feeling.

Hershel shifted his eyes back to Daryl's, which were still intently trained on the older man's face.

"An' do ya remember what ya said? How ya answered 'em?"

"Ain't doin' this," Daryl muttered, making to stand up.

Beth shot her hand down, latching it onto his thigh, and murmured out of the side of her mouth, " _sit the fuck down, Daryl_."

Daryl sighed heavily, returned to his spot on the sofa. Beth curled her feet up, partially underneath her. Faced him. Because she wanted to _see_ him, when he repeated answers to questions that she never even knew he'd been asked.

Daryl bit at his thumbnail for a moment. Hershel remained silent and patient across the room, tapping one fingertip softly against the worn leather of the arm of his chair. He tipped his head forward, just slightly, in Daryl's direction. Encouraging him, she guessed.

"When ya asked me why, I said 'cause she – 'cause Beth saved me. 'Cause she makes me wanna be better'n what I was. Better'n what I am. 'Cause she's beautiful an' sees somethin' beautiful in everythin'. 'Cause she makes me appreciate shit I never would'a, like family. 'Cause she'd do anythin' for her family, an' anythin' for mine. 'Cause she didn't give up on me an' I'd never give up on her. 'Cause I wanna spend the rest o' my life with her, so long as she wants to spend it with me, too. I wanna make her feel loved every damn day, 'cause she oughtta. 'Cause she is."

His words were quiet. But, to Beth, the words were projected through a megaphone that entered her ear and somehow wired both upward – to her head – and downward – to her heart, to her belly, to her soul.

Hershel smiled. Nodded again. Took a sip of his club soda.

"When ya asked me what promises I'd make to her, I told ya I wasn't just _makin'_ 'em. That I was gonna keep 'em. That I didn't _make_ no promises. Only _promised_ 'em. An' I said I promise I'll take care o' her. I'll make sure she gets to follow her heart an' her dreams an' do exactly what she wants to do. Promise I'll love her, forever – even if somethin' happened an' we didn't last or she decided she didn't want me no more or it just wasn't right or if I turned into my father. Promise I'll tell her _I'm sorry_ when I am an' _I love you_ every day an' that I'd – that I'd always do right by her. Even if it hurt her. Even if it hurt me."

And these, too, were quiet, and the tenses and time-frames and words were blurred. Like her vision. Like her breaths, which were coming in shakily and going out in audible little puffs of air.

Daryl sighed and ran a hand from the back of his head to the front and scrubbed it down lower, over his face. But he didn't drop his head or his eyes from her father's.

"An' when ya asked me why I was askin' you an' – an' not her, I said that I was gonna ask her, that I wanted to ask her, but I wanted to get your blessin' – your permission – an' your advice. 'Cause I've fucked up so much. An' 'cause her family's the most important thing to her. An' unless I have your blessin' – even if she didn't care 'bout that an' even if I married her anyway – I won't feel right 'bout it, because ain't _just_ marryin' her. Becomin' a part o' your family, an' that's more'n I ever deserved. She was. Ya'll are. An' if I don't feel right 'bout it, then I'd o' already broken one o' my promises."

Hershel smiled again, and it was reflective and the pride emanated, almost tangibly, through his pale blue eyes.

"An' I said: I love you, son. You ain't never gonna hurt her without hurtin' yourself. Whether ya get married or not. You two – you're one in the same. Your souls are, I can feel that much as I can feel that there's a damn rain comin' thanks to these bone-on-bone knees o' mine. Told ya I already considered ya family, an' I knew that Bethie would never find someone like you. Never find someone that made _her_ the way she was - how happy an' full o' life with an' 'cause o' you."

Daryl nodded, swallowing again.

" _When_ did this happen?" Beth hissed, unwilling to remain a silent listener in a conversation that involved her. Involved her life – past, present, and – who could say one way or another? – maybe her future.

Daryl turned to her then, and his eyes shone in the dim light cast by the lamp on the desk. And they were a little sad and a lot apologetic, slanted downward at the lateral corners.

"Seven months ago," Hershel answered.

Beth made a noise. A choking noise, maybe like strangled air, caught in between her bronchioles and her trachea and lodged in her throat.

She heard a car door slam. Voices – Glenn and Maggie and Shawn and momma and Zach.

She looked at her father, and the fear and confusion and hurt on her face _had_ to be visible. Had to be.

" _Beth_ -" Daryl whispered from beside her, and he'd wrapped one large, rough, confusing hand around her trembling thigh.

She snapped her head at him – forgetting or maybe just ignoring, for the moment, that her family and her fiancé would soon be entering the house. That she'd have to go and pretend that none of this had happened. None of it – the dance, the bathroom, the roadside revelations, the murmured confessions, the heated arguments, the longing and the acceptance and the resignation.

And she didn't try to hide anything from her eyes or her face. Not now. She _needed_ him to see it. To see her. And she could see the reflection of herself in the glassy surfaces of his eyes. And she was soft and hard and tinted in blue – from his eyes and hers – but tinged in red, deep and thick, around the edges, and the source of that was unidentifiable. Like an old-time photograph that'd been ruined by negative exposure. Maybe it originated from her tears, and maybe her tears were more like her blood leaking from her heart, upward and inward and then outward.

And she saw herself. Confused. Devastated. Hurt. Apologetic. Understanding. Open. Betrayed. Ashamed. Torn. Torn into a thousand little pieces that glinted, imperfectly yet beautifully, from the connective tissue.

Daryl squeezed her thigh even as she heard the front door opened and Glenn's loud laughter. And then she heard Zach's laugh echoing through the hallway. And her momma asking Maggie to help her get the table set, the food warmed.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered – and his voice was as broken as the ruins of herself, which she could see, shimmering and imperfect and beautiful, in the shattered windows of his eyes.

She wiped at her face, using her fingertips to slide and remove the drops of tears from under her bottom eyelids. Inhaled a shaky breath that she exhaled with a noiseless whimper.

She shifted her eyes to her father, whose own eyes were reddened along their boundaries.

"Ain't right that ya didn't know, doodlebug. Gave ya'll the whole day. Hopin' an' wishin' ya'll would flesh all – all o' this out. Between ya. But none o' this was right. Should'a told ya. But next thing we knew, you were tellin' us ya'll were engaged an' comin' home. An' I don't know if this is a second chance for ya'll. I don't know if it changes anythin', an' I ain't gonna be disappointed no matter what ya choose, Beth Ann. But –"

Hershel paused, cocking his head to listen briefly to the faint but happy conversation that was going on outside of the parlor.

"But, I need ya to know. I talked to two men who say they love ya. Say they'd do anythin' for ya –"

The knocking on the door interrupted Hershel's words.

"Hon? Is Bethie in there?" Annette sing-songed through the old, wooden barrier.

"Yes, sugar. Give us just another minute or two. Everythin' okay?"

"Of course! Zach was so excited to see the high school an' where Bethie ran track an' all the sights an' sounds o' our little town," she replied. "See ya'll in a few, dinner's gonna be out. Daryl, honey, are ya gonna stay an' eat, too?"

Hershel nodded emphatically – well, as emphatically as the man was able – at Daryl, who'd appeared to have been preparing to decline Annette's offer.

"Uh, yeah, Annie. Thanks," he said, scowling at Hershel, though his voice sounded as sweet as the apple pie (which Beth had finally identified) baking in the oven.

Hershel lowered his voice, then, and increased the pace of his speech.

"Two men sayin' damn near the same things, Bethie. An' 'fore I give ya my blessin' – whether or not ya care or want it ( _which, of course she did_ ) – to marry Mr. Johnson – 'cause that's your choice, no matter what I think 'bout it – I gotta question for ya, baby doll. Just one."

He paused, and the silence in the room – hovering in the air and in Beth's heart and lungs and brain – was deafening. Almost painful.

"An' it ain't somethin' ya gotta answer now. Ain't somethin' I'm gonna let ya argue with me 'bout. Ain't somethin' I'm gonna let ya sit here an' deny, 'cause I know I'm old, but I ain't senile. Ain't blind."

Beth held her breath, unsure if what her father said – or asked – next would be a guiding light of truth and identification or the beginnings of the segue into an existential crisis.

"Can ya marry him, Beth? Knowin' that you're still in love with Daryl?"

She swallowed hard and it was full - of tears and snot and blood that'd gathered from the unconscious assault of her teeth on her own lips.

She stood up abruptly and left the room, slamming the door – perhaps a bit loudly – behind her, and half-jogged down the hallway to the powder room to freshen up. Because that was a twisted fucking question. Because she wasn't about to let Zach see her this way – and not for _this_. And she wasn't about to let her family see her this way – because, little did they know, _she'd_ be the one asking _all_ the questions next.

Xxx

Daryl and Hershel sat in silence for a few moments, pondering in the resonance of the slammed door.

"Don't know what the _hell_ you were thinkin' –" Daryl started. And he was fucking _pissed_. Blinded with rage at this man who was like a father to him and was the _actual_ father of the woman that he couldn't – no matter what he fucking did – stop loving.

"Don't know what the hell _you've_ been thinkin', boy," Hershel snapped. And when Hershel snapped, it was never overly harsh. It was authoritative. Quiet.

"I'unno what any o' ya want from me. One day you're tellin' me to get on, that she's comin' to town with her goddamn fiancé, an' the next you're tellin' me where she's gonna be, that she's gonna be alone, that she's makin' a fuckin' mistake – an' then you're settin' me up to look like an even bigger asshole than she already thinks I am. It's bullshit, Hershel. I can be a fuckin' asshole without all ya'll's help." Daryl's voice was low – it had to be, with the rest of the family and Zach just a few rooms away – but it was sharp.

"I _want_ you to be honest, Daryl. With yourself. With my daughter. Yain't been, in a long time. An' she hasn't either."

"I _have_ been honest, Hershel. Ya weren't there. At the bar. Fuckin' told her everythin'. Everythin' I felt back then an' now. On the way home, I told her 'bout me goin' up there. I told her I fuckin' love her, that I'm always gonna love her." Daryl could feel the muscles in his neck pulling, thick and taut, as he spoke roughly and quietly but with a conviction, a devotion, a determination. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, because now Beth knew _that_. And she wasn't stupid. She'd put it together. That he'd come to New York six months ago to find her and tell her that they were both being fucking idiots – him moreso than her – and that nothing in the entire universe made sense to him anymore – and it hadn't, since he'd pushed her away and out of his life - and that he wanted to be with her forever.

And, fuck, he'd thought he'd done right. Thought he'd done right by her. By pushing her to step outside of her comfort zone – which had been comprised of exactly _him and here_ – and experience life, because, _Jesus fucking Christ_ , the world deserved to see her and know her and love her - she was made to go out there and make it a better place.

"Son, you been sufferin' for far too long. Yain't never listened to me. Not 'bout her. 'Cause I know ya think ya done right – an', in a way, ya did. Ya broke her damn heart – an' we've had way too many conversations 'bout that, I assume, 'less ya want me to rip into ya one last time for good measure – but she's stronger for it. An' she earned her degrees an' does what she loves. An' she's – she's okay. But she's been sufferin', too, an' even if she ain't quite up to admittin' it just yet, she still is. Ain't no other reason that she'd'a stayed away from home so long. From her momma and Shawn and Maggie and Nelly. Ain't no other reason that the first time I seen that girl's eyes light up the way they used to was when ya'll were out there, in the barn, last night."

"What d'ya want me to do, Hershel? Just – just fuckin' _tell_ me. What _can_ I do? I can't read fuckin' minds. I ain't smart an' don't have nice clothes or no damn degree an' I can't be like _him_ an' that seems to be what she wants – an' all I got is just this. Fuckin' obsession, pussy bullshit. Combin' her damn horse's hair every night, fantasizin' that she's with me. Watchin' the goddamn New York news channel just so I can quit wonderin' if she's okay. Readin' her goddamn text messages she sent me years ago, over an' over. That I was too much of a dick to even reply to. 'Cause I thought it – thought a clean break'd be easier on us both." Daryl knew his voice was a fluctuating in pitch and tone and emotion and inflection and emphasis. But that's how all of this felt to him. Nothing was right. Nothing was how it should have been. Nothing was how he ever thought it'd be. But that was _his_ perspective. If it was right – right now, right this minute – to her? Then he wasn't going to interfere. Not any more than he already had.

"Ain't none of us perfect, Daryl. We all make mistakes, an' they ain't always made with ill intentions. But we can come back, we can do right. We can _try_. An' if it comes down to it, an' she decides to marry Zach, at least ya won't live with more regret than y'already got. I gave ya that ring, that one that belonged to my own mother, for a reason. My dad was a damn drunken fool an' he messed up, too, after he was already married to my momma. She divorced him an' it was just me an' her an' my siblings for a long time. Then one day, he showed up at the house – had that same look in his eyes that you been walkin' 'round with for years, son – I's almost a young man by then. He was clean an' sober an' had been for several years when he came back. An' he asked my momma to marry him – again – an' he gave her _that_ ring. An', to me, it symbolizes – it solidifies – that we get to come back from our darkest depths of despair."

Hershel struggled to his feet, placing his club soda on the small end-table on one side of his chair. Picked up his cane and walked across the room. Stood, hovering over Daryl, who remained seated and looking up at him – looking up _to_ him – and placed one hand on Daryl's cheek.

"Ain't sayin' ya gotta ask her to marry ya. Don't even gotta give her _that_ ring, if ya ever get the testicular fortitude to realize that you are _worthy_ , son, an' actually ask her to be with ya. Tell her ya wanna be with her. Ain't sayin' she's gonna marry ya, even if she decides she can't marry him. Ain't sayin' it's ever gonna work out – 'cause you're both stubborn as hell. Just sayin', we got one life, for all we know. You can either screw up an' regret it forever, or you can screw up an' _try_ to fix it – an' then ya can't, in any kind'a good conscience, truly regret a thing."

Daryl nodded and ducked his head, staring at the floor. And he thought about that ring. Still at his house. His shitty house. In his shitty bedside table drawer. Where he'd planned on leaving it forever.

"I love ya, boy. You've made me proud. You hang 'round, after dinner, if ya can. We'll make sure everyone gets off to bed nice an' early an' then maybe the two o' you oughtta talk, one more time. If she's willin'." Hershel turned and walked slowly to the door, closing it – much more lightly – behind him as he exited.

And while Daryl was in the parlor room, silently counting all of the reasons why Beth shouldn't give him another chance after all he'd put her through over the majority of the weekend - just a few slabs of drywall and some empty space away, Beth was still in the bathroom, silently counting all of the reasons why – and there were so many – it wouldn't be right for her to go through with this marriage.

Xxx

 _Special sneak peek of next chapter (or you can just say this is the end of the chapter, I don't even know what I'm doing right now)._

Daryl opened the door to the parlor room as quietly as possible, satisfied when he heard the mingling voices of the Greenes and the Rhees and – yeah, even Zach.

He walked down the narrow hallway that branched off of the living room and led to the small powder room, as silent on his feet as if he were out in the woods, stalking and hunting his game.

Beth was still in the bathroom; he could hear her sniffling once in a while, mumbling softly to herself. Maybe humming. And he'd planned on taking Hershel's advice and staying after dinner to try to get some _actual_ alone time with her to talk, but he couldn't do this. He couldn't sit through the world's most fucking awkward family dinner – not that, in general, _all_ family dinners weren't awkward, at least to him – without at least seeing her.

He jiggled the doorknob and wasn't really surprised to find that she'd locked the door. He knocked, but she didn't open it. And she should've known better, because Daryl could pick every fucking lock in this house if he wanted to. He'd been there enough. Snuck in and out enough.

He quickly maneuvered back into the parlor and grabbed a paperclip from the corner desk, unwinding it as he made his way back to the bathroom door. And, as silent as he walked, he picked the lock and the door cracked open with a quiet _pop_.

And she didn't slam it in his face or reach her hand out to flip him off or slap him, so he took that as a good – or, at least, not a _bad_ \- sign and slid open the door just enough so that he could get inside.

"What the fuck are you doin'?" She was leaning against the sink, lean arms folded across her chest, wind-blown hair a beautiful, chaotic fucking mess on her stubborn-ass head. Wearing her mean muggin' look. As if she didn't have a million questions or (just as likely) snarky comments – which he truthfully loved and always had.

"Wanted to see ya," he whispered.

"Well, I don't wanna see you. So get the _fuck_ out." Her voice was a harsh whisper but her _face_. Her face gave her away. She couldn't lie for shit. Not with those big, expressive eyes of hers.

"Make me," Daryl whispered back with just the right amount of inflection so that he didn't sound entirely desperate.

She walked toward him then, slow but with a purpose, and shoved – well, more like _poked_ repeatedly – against his chest. Until his back was flat up against the bathroom door. And he wasn't freaking out, for the moment, because he could still hear the conversation from the dining room.

"I cannot _believe_ you, ya lyin' fuckin' asshole!" She whisper-yelled, rising onto her toes to get her face more level with his.

"Be mad, Beth. But I didn't do it to hurt ya," he said.

"No, you're right. You didn't _do_ anythin', Daryl. And _that_ is what hurts me."

She reached her arm down by his hip, grabbing for the doorknob, which he quickly slid his hips over to block from her grasp.

"Let me out," she said.

"No," he replied, matching her irritated tone. "Not until you give me a minute to apologize."

"I don't _want_ your fuckin' apologies," she said through gritted teeth.

And now he was starting to get pissed – because all he'd been getting from her is that she wanted him to admit he'd fucked up and tell her how he felt. And _sorry_ was a fucking feeling, was it not?

"Fine," he hissed. "When ya figure out what it is that ya _do_ want, Beth – just fuckin' let me know. Or don't. Whatever."

He started to turn his body backwards to leave her there, because obviously he had the ability to only and continually fuck everything up even _more_ , but she grabbed his face. In both of her tiny, strong hands. And the memories that just the feel of both of those hands - _her_ hands - on his face brought to his mind made his cock twitch in his jeans.

He only got a quick look at her face – her pale, beautiful, pissed-off fucking face – and the crazed, blazing, darkened hue of her blue eyes before his world ended in a series of fireworks that sparked in his head and the backs of his eyes and his cock and his heart. His fucking heart.

"I am _so_ fucking mad at you that I _almost_ hate you," she hissed.

And then she shoved her strong little body up against his and covered his mouth with hers in a swift, jerky motion fueled by all the things that he felt – the blind rage and desperation, the sadness, the longing, the lust, the need, and – if he really, really dug in, just deep enough – the love – in her hot, wet, beautiful mouth that had just set his long-banked world back on fire.

xxx


	6. close your eyes, clear your heart

_**A/N: thank you to anyone out there reading and especially for your reviews. I read and adore every single one of them.**_

 _ **this chapter is ROUGH. FAIR WARNING HERE - WE ARE ABOUT TO HIT ROCK BOTTOM.**_

 _ **I am posting this knowing FULLY WELL AND GOOD that it may turn some of you off and/or away from this story, but this - the feeling and emotion and certain scenarios within this chapter - is what inspired this entire story (yes, I know I'm twisted and warped, HELP!).**_

 _ **Good news is that once we hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up.**_

 _ **Please don't hate me.**_

 _ **Looking forward to your thoughts, as always.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 6: close your eyes, clear your heart, cut the cord**

Daryl opened the door to the parlor room as quietly as possible, satisfied when he heard the mingling voices of the Greenes and the Rhees and – yeah, even Zach.

He walked down the narrow hallway that branched off of the living room and led to the small powder room, as silent on his feet as if he were out in the woods, stalking and hunting his game.

Beth was still in the bathroom; he could hear her sniffling once in a while, mumbling softly to herself. Maybe humming. And he'd planned on taking Hershel's advice and staying after dinner to try to get some actual alone time with her to talk, but he couldn't do this. He couldn't sit through the world's most fucking awkward family dinner – not that, in general, _all_ family dinners weren't awkward, at least to him – without at least seeing her.

He jiggled the doorknob and wasn't really surprised to find that she'd locked the door. He knocked, but she didn't open it. And she should've known better, because Daryl could pick every fucking lock in this house if he wanted to. He'd been there enough. Snuck in and out enough.

He quickly maneuvered back into the parlor and grabbed a paperclip, unwinding it as he made his way back to the bathroom door. And, as silent as he walked, he picked the lock and the door cracked open with a quiet _pop_.

And she didn't slam it in his face or reach her hand out to flip him off or slap him, so he took that as a good – or, at least, not a bad sign – sign and slid open the door, just enough so that he could get inside.

"What the fuck are you _doin'_?" She was leaning against the sink, lean arms folded across her chest, wind-blown hair a beautiful fucking mess on her stubborn-ass head. Putting on her mean muggin' look. As if she didn't have a million questions or (just as likely and probably just as many) snarky comments – which he truthfully loved and always had.

"Wanted to see ya," he whispered.

"Well, I don't wanna see you. So get the _fuck_ out." Her voice was a harsh whisper but _her face_. Her face gave her away. She couldn't lie for shit. Not with those big, expressive eyes of hers.

"Make me," Daryl whispered back with just the right amount of inflection so that he didn't sound entirely desperate.

She walked toward him then, slowly but with a purpose, and shoved – well, more like _poked_ repeatedly – against his chest. Until his back was flat up against the bathroom door. And he wasn't freaking out, for the moment, because he could still hear the conversation from the dining room.

"I cannot _believe_ you, ya lyin' fuckin' asshole!" She whisper-yelled, rising onto her toes to get her face more level with his.

"Be mad, Beth. But I didn't do it to hurt ya," he said.

"No, you're right. You didn't _do_ anythin', Daryl. And _that_ is what hurts me."

She reached her arm down by his hip, grabbing for the doorknob, which he quickly slid his hips over to block from her grasp.

"Let me out," she said.

"No," he replied, matching her irritated tone. "Not until you give me a minute to apologize."

"I don't _want_ your fuckin' apologies," she said through gritted teeth.

And now he was starting to get pissed – because all he'd been getting from her is that she wanted him to admit he'd fucked up and tell her how he felt. And _sorry_ was a fucking feeling, was it not?

"Fine," he hissed. "When ya figure out what it is that ya do want, Beth – just fuckin' let me know. Or don't. Whatever."

He started to turn his body backwards to leave her there, because obviously he had the ability to only and continually fuck everything up even more, but she grabbed his face. In both of her tiny, strong hands. And the memories that just the feel of both of those hands - _her_ hands - on his face brought to his mind made his cock twitch in his jeans.

He only got a quick look at her face – her beautiful, pissed-off fucking face – and the crazed, blazing, darkened hue of her blue eyes before his world ended in a series of fireworks that sparked in his head and the backs of his eyes and his cock and his heart. His fucking heart.

"I am so fucking _mad_ at you that I _almost_ hate you," she hissed.

And then she shoved her strong little body up against his and covered his mouth with hers in a swift, jerky motion fueled by all the things that he felt – the blind rage and desperation, the sadness, the longing, the lust, the need, and – if he really, really dug in, just deep enough – the love – in her hot, wet, beautiful mouth that had just set his long-banked world back on fire.

Xxx

Beth didn't know why she'd done that. The very thing that she'd told herself – just a short time ago, when her eyes had been drawn to his lips while they were out there, under the Georgia stars – would mean _no turning back_.

But, right now, she was all emotion. All impulse. Not really a person, not right now – more like a walking amygdala with only the excitable webbing and strings of neurons for appendages. She had no contextual or logical control of her muscles or her actions. Probably not her words, either, so maybe kissing him had been the best choice. Maybe her only choice. Because if she didn't kiss him, she might've slapped him or opened her fucking mouth and started screaming – and wouldn't _that_ have been an unforgettable image for her family and Zach to stumble upon?

Maybe it was because she'd thought that at least if she were kissing him, she could be quiet. They could be quiet. They wouldn't be screaming at each other or crying or angrily throwing shit around the tiny powder room.

And she wasn't wrong. They weren't loud, the two of them. But her thoughts were. The rush of her blood inside her veins and the steady but rapid pulsations throughout her body, which she seemed to feel everywhere and all at once, were. Even the shaking and rattling of the shattered remnants of what'd once been her heart – young and full and shapely – as she pressed her chest into his was loud to her.

He'd been about to leave the bathroom – and anger had been dripping from the last words he'd spoken, and that made _her_ even angrier – when she'd stopped him by placing her hands on his face. Something he'd mentioned earlier that day, how he loved the way it used to feel when she did that. Something about how strong her hands could be when she knew what she wanted. But she was pretty sure that even when she didn't know _a fucking thing_ about what she wanted, they could still be pretty strong. And she wasn't even consciously thinking about all of this, because all of her thoughts and his words and the things she'd learned were mixing inside of her to form something that stretched out long and thin and tense and taut, and it occupied the entire space of her body and brain. And she was only human; she'd just reached her point of yield.

And when she placed her hands on his face and saw – _felt_ – the look in his eyes – frustration and apologies and want and love and need and regret all bubbling, like the tips of blue flames, under the surfaces of his corneas – she did the only thing she could.

And it wasn't just a kiss. She knew that.

It was a confession. A poem. A punishment. A reward.

And she had almost forgotten the way his lips felt. The way he was so generous yet greedy – all give and take and all raptured emotion underneath his hard exterior – with the way he made love, with his mouth and his body.

He hadn't reacted right away. He'd been stunned, she'd assumed, into a rigid, motionless state of being. And her lips had been hard, at first. Angry. Like the only way she could express herself was _this_ , because what were words anyway? What did they mean – when they were spoken? When they weren't?

And then, with a sudden ferocity, something broke inside of him, and maybe she felt it or heard it snapping inside of her, too. And his mouth transformed from cold and solid to hot and wet and pliant, shaping itself into and around hers.

She sobbed – and it still wasn't loud, or at least it didn't _sound_ loud to Beth, not as loud as it _felt_ as it crawled its way from the inside to the outside of her – into his mouth when she felt his tongue lightly but insistently tracing her closed lips, and she wanted to part them for him. Wanted to let him inside of her. And she couldn't think about what that meant. Not now. So she opened her mouth as that sob escaped it, and she couldn't discern whether the sound was in response to the fact that _she wanted to_ or because of the way it felt when – thanks to her parted lips – his tongue _finally_ slid along hers.

And it felt like everything he was. Everything he'd always been. Like he was setting her on fire. Just small little blazes at first that gradually traveled some invisible line of fuel that extended from her tongue to her belly, where it grew – hot and wild – and settled. And it didn't really _settle_ (it never had) – it _flourished_ , and the flames of it licked her heart and her core and her toes.

And then she was moving too, and her body and her tongue and her mouth seemed to remember everything that she didn't consciously know. Because she slid her hands up from his face and into his hair, threaded her fingers through the long strands there and pulled while she simultaneously explored the depths of his mouth with her tongue - sometimes meeting his in the middle, sometimes sliding over the top of it as he slanted his head so he could get in a little deeper. So he could invade her, just a little more.

When she tugged his hair, his hands – that'd, until now, remained out of Beth's sight, for the most part – came back to life. And he grasped her hips and dug his fingers into the flesh there as he groaned a little – still quiet – into her mouth. He pulled her body into his roughly, into where she could feel him hardening under his jeans and that made the deepest parts of her begin to throb and ache and mindlessly search for his and she knew they had to stop soon. They needed to.

With a whimper that wasn't quite as quiet as everything else had been thus far, she wrenched her lips off of and away from his, forcefully and without any warning. She didn't move her body away, but she hid her face. She couldn't look at his. Didn't want him to see hers. So she rested it against his shoulder, where she could maybe pretend that they'd just been dancing again.

He was breathing heavily and she could've sworn he was shaking a little, somewhere – his body or his breaths or maybe both. Or maybe that was her. But her entire body rose and fell against his - along with his, like they were one and the same - with the effort of it all. And he was still gripping her hips, maybe even harder than he had been.

" _Please_ ," he finally whispered, and it was desperate and pained and he dug his fingers into her just a little more tightly. "Don't do it." And she didn't need to ask him what he was referring to. She knew. He knew she knew.

She buried her face in his shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut. Tried to pray the tears away. Because she had to go out there. Soon.

Xxx

Beth and Daryl had wordlessly arranged their entrances into the dining room, where the rest of her family and Zach were waiting for them, so that they were staggered. Inconsequential. Natural, maybe. She left the bathroom first. In silence.

"Oh, there you are, babe!" Zach said, turning away from the kitchen counter, where he'd been dicing onions for the salad, and faced her as she walked into the dining room. "Are you okay?"

She stiffened, and goddamn it. Why would he think she wasn't? Was it her face? Were her lips red and swollen from Daryl's mouth? Were her eyes red and puffy from the insane amount of tears she'd shed throughout the course of the day?

She walked slowly over to him – and _thank fuck_ for onions.

"I'm fine. How're you?"

He closed the distance between them and wrapped his long, warm arms around her, pulling their bodies closely together. And there it was again – the idle, uncontrollable comparisons created by her stupid, fucked-up head. And, this time, she noticed everything. Every little difference that her mind could find was pushed into its forefront, placed on display for her to examine. The subtle inward dip of Zach's chest, where Daryl's was more barrel-shaped and solid with muscle. The way Zach smelled like expensive cologne instead of stale smoke and leather. The way her cheek rested against his, even when she was wearing nothing on her feet, rather than just barely reaching the triangular expanse of skin that formed among his chest and shoulder and clavicle. The way his lips, as he kissed her with an understated and somewhat cautious passion, were light and smooth on hers and his tongue wasn't demanding or curious or built to take everything away from her just to give it right back even harder.

"Great, actually. Loved seeing your town, spending time with your family. It's really a great area, Beth. I see a lot of potential here. And you came from here, so I know it's even more amazing than it appears to the eyes." He smiled at her as he smoothed her hair, which was probably still a rat's nest spiraling wildly from its roots from the motorcycle ride.

"I wish ya would'a texted me and let me know where ya were. I was a little worried, since – since you guys left the bar before us," she said quietly, not intentionally meaning to draw any attention to the time between the bar and home – for her own sake, at least.

But Maggie had _great_ hearing. And Beth couldn't even look at her right now without wanting to wrap her hands around her throat and demand to know what that _bullshit_ phone call had been about.

"Uh, Beth? I called ya an' _told_ ya we were takin' Zach 'round to show him where ya grew up. Maybe look for a spot for the weddin'. _Remember_?" Her sister's tone was light but conspirational. Except she'd only been conspiring with everyone _except_ for Beth.

"Oh, _silly me_ ," Beth said, feigning recognition. "I'unno what's gotten into me, seems my memory has just gone out the damn window lately. Guess it's seein' and talkin' to all the people I haven't seen in so long – some I feel like I barely even _know_ anymore." She laced her words with the tiniest bit of sharpness and irritation. The tiniest bit of _you and I, big sister, are going to have some words_. The corners of Maggie's mouth curved downward, only slightly. But her eyes were earnest and unyielding.

Daryl cleared his throat quietly as he entered the dining room. And Beth watched as a look passed between him and Maggie – and he hadn't altogether looked at her much differently than Beth had. Like _he_ had some shit he wanted to say to her, too.

"Daryl, honey, can ya do me a favor an' set the table?" Annette asked as she removed the garlic bread she'd prepared earlier from the microwave.

"'Course," he muttered, eyes flashing briefly to where Zach and Beth stood, still half-embracing. And she averted her eyes quickly away from his as he passed by them to dig through the cupboards for plates.

The family gathered around the dining room table – and the feeling was surreal to Beth, for a multitude of reasons. Being here again, with her family – like this – was one of the best feelings in the world, on the surface of things, anyway. Zach being here was surreal. Being here with Daryl, who sat directly across from Beth thanks to her family's curiously strategic seating arrangement, was even more bizarre.

"Hersh, why don't ya say grace?" Annette asked, and her voice sounded a little teary, and it stabbed Beth directly in her heart. She couldn't go this long, ever again, without coming home. Without seeing them. Life was precious and short and no one knew how long they'd – any of them – would be here. Even if _certain_ members were shady as fuck.

They joined hands – Zach sat on one side of Beth and her daddy on was on the other, at the head of the table.

"Precious Lord above, thank you for this day. Thank you for bringin' our sweet Beth Ann back to us. For bringin' her fiancé, for lettin' the two of them share themselves an' a li'l bit of their lives with us. Thank you for blessin' us with our beautiful family. For Shawn, who still hasn't learned how to censor himself, but is growin' into the kind'a man I am proud of. For Maggie Mae, always the glue holdin' us all together an' bringin' Glenn into our lives. For my beautiful wife, who I love more an' more each day ya bless me with. For Beth Ann, who has looked fear right in its face an' has prevailed an' - please heavenly father - guide her to keep on learnin' an' followin' the path you've created for her. For Daryl Dixon, who loves unconditionally an' has enriched all our lives just by bein' here – even if he needs a lesson or two on language an' honesty. Thank you for this meal. Let us all find peace here, tonight. Together again – new an' old an' changed yet the same. May we have the courage to follow you, in your name. Amen."

Zach released Beth's hand after the united, mumbled "amen" that rose above the table and hung there in the air, above them all. Hershel squeezed her other hand, just briefly, before releasing it – and, not that she was watching, but it appeared that Daryl's hand on his other side had gotten a similar treatment.

The chatter began almost instantly as everyone filled their plates.

Zach talked excitedly about the potential wedding venues – or makeshift wedding venues – in the area that he'd seen. He was traditional in some ways, and he apparently had decided that they'd be married here, where Beth had been raised. Which was fine with her if they actually – but, no, they couldn't. She couldn't. Her father's question rolled around in her head as she chewed her food, mechanically more than anything, and zoned out until the conversation around her became a jumble of white noise.

When should she tell him? _What_ should she tell him? That she needed time? Maybe space? Which was horrible, since he'd only recently moved into her apartment. Their apartment. They'd only been engaged for a few short weeks. Just break it off, nice and easy and all at once? That'd probably make more sense than stringing him along when there was no way she'd ever be able to give her entire heart to him. But that seemed so cruel, and it would certainly necessitate a conversation of sorts. An explanation of some kind. And how could she explain this? _Oh, I'm so sorry, Zach. You bought me plane tickets and came with me to my hometown to meet my family and, while we were there, I remembered just how stupidly in love I am with your beloved Mr. Dixon._ She scoffed inwardly, and it was all so ridiculous because she didn't even know if she could _be_ with Daryl. Hadn't had any time to fully process everything. They hadn't worked out for a reason. He'd treated her badly – and she wouldn't sugarcoat that to herself – or anyone else – despite his intentions. He'd hurt her. Scarred her. Told her, _point blank_ , not to expect anything from him, because he _couldn't and wouldn't_ be what she wanted him to be. As if he knew. As if _she_ even knew, anymore.

There were no scenarios that she could create, at the moment, that didn't make her feel completely nauseous.

"Okay, babe?" Zach asked, breaking into her thoughts. And how ironic – for him to be so caring and concerned right now, while she mapped out how she was going to end things with them silently in her head.

She half-turned her face toward his, and his eyes were bright and loving and she could see them so clearly (and not just because his hair was perfectly combed and arranged and out of his face) – there were no mysteries there. No black, capricious depths there that she had to swim through in order to figure out what he was feeling or thinking.

She nodded, and he grabbed her hand under the table. And she interlocked her fingers with his and tried to give him an appreciative smile. But her stomach was churning.

She turned her head, feeling _his_ eyes on her face from across the table. And then she felt his foot – sock-clad, since no shoes were allowed in this house – on hers. And it took some effort to keep her body from jumping at the unexpected sensation.

She shot him a look of warning. It was _not_ the time to fuck with her or make her head spin any more than it already was.

But then she saw, almost as clearly as she'd seen in Zach's eyes, his look of concern. Of wonder. Of love. And he mouthed _are ya okay_? inconspicuously.

She shrugged, and thought to herself that _yes, she was okay, but only because she_ had _to be._

"So, Bethie," Maggie said loudly, interrupting the long stare that'd extended, without Beth really even noticing, between her and Daryl. And she still wanted to shake her sister and scream at her, maybe, but she was almost glad for the distraction that she was providing at the time.

Beth turned her head toward her sister, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table in between their momma and Glenn, who sat by Daryl.

"What d'ya think?"

Beth stared at her blankly, blinking a few times. And she felt her face rapidly growing hot as every pair of eyes in the room were suddenly on her face, waiting for her response. To _what_ exactly, she had no idea.

"Uh – I. I'm sorry, I – kind'a zoned out. Been a long day. What were ya'll sayin'?" Beth stuttered a little, but overall was content that she'd even managed to speak.

"Zoned out? Beth, we're talkin' 'bout _your_ damn _weddin'_. How can you be zonin' out - _Jesus_ , you're gonna make a _great_ wife. We was all thinkin' an' sayin' tonight that a spring weddin' would be nice. Don't you?"

And, no – _really, no_ – what the _fuck_ was her sister trying to pull? Was she intentionally trying to out her? How very fucking _sisterly_ of her. Beth's face was still hot from being put on the spot, but the redness was quickly winding downward and onto her throat and chest – and the source of it was indubitably the sudden anger she was feeling. And she'd fucking _had it_.

"I'unno, _Maggie_. Maybe _ya'll_ can decide for me. Since you've taken it upon yourselves to decide _so many other things_ in my life. Why don't ya go on, pick a date for me? Pick a place. Go try on a dress for me. Don't even bother asking me what _I_ think. Don't even _bother_ telling me. I'll just find out in some ridiculous round-about way – ya know how much I like _giant fuckin' surprises_." She couldn't help it. Her tone was venomous and she'd practically spat the words at her sister. She'd slammed her fork down onto the table and the red of the spaghetti sauce would surely stain her mother's favorite linen cloth. She couldn't care less. Not right now.

Silence overtook the room. The air. Everyone.

"Girls, stop it," Annette said in a hushed, embarrassed voice. Like she'd done so many other times over the years when they'd bicker or fight or punch each other in the shoulders.

"Jesus, take some fuckin' _Midol_ , Beth," Shawn laughed, holding his hand up to Zach – apparently with the hope of receiving a high-five from her fiancé, which didn't happen - which was a good call by Zach.

"Damn, am I the only one with a sense o' humor 'round here anymore? No wonder I got a drinkin' problem," he muttered, shifting his eyes back to his plate.

"May I be excused?" Beth asked, turning towards her father. She had to get the fuck out of there. Before the tears spilled over and she just screamed everything – every truth and lie – into the already-tense air that she couldn't fucking breathe in for another second.

Hershel nodded, and his lips curved down and into a frown.

And maybe they should've all been frowning.

"Need me to come with you?" Zach whispered. Annette had begun to strike up some small talk with Glenn to ease the strain of the confrontation.

"No need. Finish eatin'. I'm sorry. Think I'm – I'll just go 'head an' lay down for a bit." She stood and kept her eyes on the ground – except for shooting her sister one last look that she only hoped conveyed not only the _anger_ , but also the _hurt_ she was feeling – and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

And as soon as she landed face-down onto her mattress, she started crying. Because what else could she do?

Xxx

She'd been in her room for a few hours. Door locked. Lights off. Unable to sleep. Tears had dried, and so had the glands that'd been forming them for so long. Maybe for good – hopefully for good. Her pillow and her soul were soaked with them.

She'd gotten a text from Zach about a half hour earlier:

 _Babe, I'm here if you need me. Just call me or sneak into my room ;). I'll leave the door unlocked. I know all of this has been hard on you. I want to give you the space that you seem to need. But I'm here. I'm going to lay down – your dad wore me out today! Thank you for bringing me here. One of the best weekends of my life. I love you so much and can't wait to make you my wife._

Then one from Maggie, just a few moments later:

 _Beth, I'm sorry. But U needed 2 know b4 u went thru w/this. Would like 2 talk 2 U before U go back 2 NY. I love U._

And she'd clutched and squeezed the protective, hard plastic of the case of her phone so tightly that she'd been surprised it hadn't shattered between her fingers.

Her head was pounding, which was probably due to a combination of the after-effects of the alcohol she'd drunk all day and the incessant drama that seemed to be following her around like a clingy, black rain cloud all weekend.

And she didn't know which of the messages she'd received bothered her more. The one from Zach, which was so understanding and caring or her sister's, which was implying that she knew what was right and assuming that Beth would even _want_ to talk to her again.

She sighed and sat up at the side of the bed. She glanced at the small digital clock that still sat – and still worked – on her nightstand. It was only ten pm, but this had – without a doubt – been the longest fucking day of her entire life. And, of course, it couldn't just end. She couldn't have just come up here, had a nice long crying spell, and then fallen into some kind of sleep.

And then her fucking phone buzzed again.

"Ugh, what the fuck _now_?" She muttered to herself as she yanked the phone off of the nightstand in frustration. And even to her own ears, her voice sounded irritated and exhausted and weathered – which was really not much different than how her body _felt_. How her mind felt. And her heart.

And she hadn't seen _this_ name – and it was comprised of black pixelated letters, just like the rest of them, but they were somehow more beautiful, somehow caused a physical stirring inside of her body, just by reading them – across the screen of her phone in _years_. She swiped the lock screen and opened the message and, though her heart was racing in some kind of twisted excitement, her initial reaction was _why_? She was just a fucking human – and how much could she really take in a little over _one day_? If they'd all thought she couldn't handle the fucking truth of so many other things, then why did they suddenly feel that bombarding her with _more bullshit_ was in any way something she could handle?

 _i can't sing a love song like the way it's meant to be_

She almost threw up, even as her head recited the next few lines of the song – _the_ song – silently. She inhaled deeply to quell the nausea.

She responded, but she didn't take the bait. It wasn't that easy. Couldn't be. Wouldn't be. Regardless of all they'd done, all they'd shared and confessed and lived through, he couldn't just finally – _three fucking years later_ – respond to a text that she'd sent him and expect her to jump for joy. Because that'd been the last message she'd sent him – the lines of the song just prior to that _very one_. And _fuck him_ , because he couldn't respond then or any time since then until now (when her world was falling the fuck apart – when she was discovering, brick by jagged brick, that she'd been lied to by the people she trusted the very most in this world), but he could ask her fucking father for his blessing to propose to her – to reinsert himself into her life after all he'd done – and then not even have the balls to ask _her_. Or come to her. Or, really, a simple phone call would've sufficed. From Daryl or from _any of them_. But it wasn't like it was _her_ life everyone'd been fucking with, right?

She merely asked him, in so many words, what the _fuck_ he wanted.

 _want u to open ur fuckn window_

She sighed again. He could fucking get it open and they both knew it, whether it was unlocked or not, but she couldn't take any more arguments – verbal or otherwise – at the moment. So she stood and quietly padded over to the window – deliberately not looking through it or really even _at_ it – and flipped up the old, golden latch that sat on top of the wooden frame.

She walked back over to her bed and returned to her previous position on its edge. She was only clad in sleeper shorts and a white camisole and fuzzy pink socks, but she really didn't give a shit.

A few moments later, she heard the window open and his big, clumsy body attempt to quietly crawl over the ledge. She didn't move or try to help him. Didn't even look at him as he stumbled across the room to stand directly in front of her.

She wondered in sudden hysteria if he'd just been waiting outside until everyone had gone to bed. Her father had suggested they talk more tonight, anyway, so why hadn't he just hung around the house and entered her room like a normal fucking person?

"Y'alright?" He asked quietly. And then he moved to sit next to her on her bed. Where they'd fucked at least fifty times over the seven-plus years they'd been together.

She snapped her head at him, and she felt her ponytail whip around with the force of the movement. And she almost wanted to use it like a weapon, maybe slash him in his face. Because he pissed her off. Because as much as she wanted to hurt him, she wanted to let herself love him. And because her body was still reacting to him. Right this minute. Despite the hurt and betrayal and anger, and whoever'd touted _mind over matter_ had clearly never been reluctantly, desperately in love with Daryl Dixon.

"What do you think? I'm fuckin' _fantastic_ , Daryl. _Jesus_. What do you want?"

She could see the amount of effort it took for him, then, to keep his eyes on her face. To not flinch away from her, from her harshly-whispered words and the acid that trickled hotly off of them.

He fidgeted a little beside her, and Beth hoped - _prayed_ even - that he was feeling a little shitty. It wasn't fair for her to blame everything on him, but he was here. Accessible. And definitely not an insignificant source of much of her frustration.

"Ya know what I want. But I came here to talk. 'Less ya wanna go – could go out to the barn or somethin', if ya don't wanna be in here."

His eyes slide over her full-sized bed, her pink comforter, the headboard – the rungs of which he'd had to hold onto tightly when he'd been thrusting heavily into her, long ago, to keep it from bashing into the wall and waking up the entire fucking house – and she could tell that he was probably remembering some of those memories, too. But there'd be just as many for them to find and try to avoid if they'd gone out to the barn. If they'd gone anywhere else in this entire house, and probably outside of it, too.

He sighed when she didn't answer. "All I wanna say is that I'm sorry. Know ya don't wanna hear it. But I didn't tell ya that – all o' that, 'cause ya were already hurtin' so much, already so confused. An' it doesn't matter much, anyhow. An' look what it done. Didn't do nothing 'cept – I'unno – break ya, like the last fuckin' straw, Beth. An' I didn't have _nothin'_ to do with any o' that, want ya to know that. That'd be all your cunnin' fuckin' sister."

She believed him. That he hadn't known that Maggie – and her father, and who knows who else? – had deliberately set them up that way. Still didn't mean she wasn't pissed at him. Or that she wasn't hurt, at least partially - but really _mostly_ \- because of him. And the question of why he or any of the others felt that they were the ones who should judge what she could or couldn't handle kept gnawing away at her mind, leaving it raw.

And there was nothing she could think of to abate the anger or the hurt. Not right now. Not here. And she didn't give a shit what anyone's intentions may've been.

"Let's go to the barn," she whispered, not meeting his eyes, as a half-formed thought or a solution or a total mistake finally started to surface from the brittle corners of her mind - or maybe it was her heart.

Xxx

She felt numb, even as she slid the doors of the barn closed behind them. Nelly and the few other horses weren't startled by their sudden invasion into their home. They just continued to quietly eat or stand there or sleep, and Beth remembered writing in her diary once that she'd envied the lives of her horses. How they didn't have to feel pain or sorrow or abandonment – that they just lived to survive. Eat, sleep, mate, urinate, defecate, entertain the humans once in a while.

She had Daryl by the hand. Didn't know if their fingers were interlocked or if she was just palming his, guiding him with a little bit of roughness that stemmed mostly from the anger that was doing nothing but building and growing into a heated flame inside of her. She led him back to the stall – _their stall_ – back to where all of this started. Not just the previous night. But this was the place they'd first met, really. Where they'd first kissed. Where they'd first fucked.

And this is where it would end. _And don't you think that's beautiful?_ a bitter voice resounded inside of her head.

She remained silent – though the silence was full of her fury and resentment – as she closed the narrow door to the stall. Probably wasn't necessary, but she wasn't taking any chances. She was desperate to be in control now, for the first time in way too long. No one else was holding or pulling at the reigns of her life, of her happiness. She couldn't blame anyone else – and that would be a positive life change, because she was _so tired_. So tired of blaming. At least if she were blaming herself, she could direct some of what she was feeling onto herself in a simple kind of way instead of the endless loops of thoughts questioning her family members' motives or audacities or authenticity.

She didn't speak as she removed the cami she'd been wearing, ignoring his hissed _"what the fuck are you doing, Greene?"_ , and then reached around and unclasped her bra. She threw them both off to the side, onto the muddied concrete beneath their feet. There were only a few dim lights on inside of the barn, but honestly she didn't care if the entire barn had been lit up like the Las Vegas strip right then. He'd seen her naked hundreds of times. From every angle. In every kind of light. In every position. Hadn't been that long, though a small part of her wondered if she looked any different to him now.

She dipped her hands under the waistband of her shorts, preparing to pull them down, when Daryl roughly grabbed her wrists.

"I _said_ , what the _fuck_ do ya think you're doin'?" His voice was shaking. _Such a coward_ , she thought. Beautiful fucking coward. Life-wrecker. Home-wrecker. Heartbreaker.

"Let go of me. And take off your clothes," she said in a disinterested voice. And even she was surprised that she had taken this impulse even this far. She'd created a barrier – a fucking _bulletproof wall_ – inside of her mind, which was - so far - successfully keeping her emotions separate from her actions, from her words, from her conscious thoughts.

"Beth, wha – no, really, what is _this_? What are you tryin' to do?" His voice was pleading. And confused. And _good_ , because she wanted him to know what it felt like. To have absolutely _no_ fucking control.

She slid her shorts and underwear off simultaneously and kicked them to the side. Removed the band that'd held her hair in a ponytail and shook her head, letting the wavy blonde strands cascade down her back. Stood fully bare in front of him with her hands on her hips and with what she hoped was an expectant and borderline-impatient look on her face. Slid the engagement ring off of her finger and tossed it on top of the pile of her discarded clothes.

And he was only human, too. She knew. She watched him fighting with himself – it was playing out in front of her, just as much external as she imagined it must've been inside of him. Watched his eyes – despite his resistance – slide hungrily down her body. Over her breasts and her flat stomach (and the uncovered, healing wound) to her shaven pussy and her lean, toned, creamy legs. And even though he was standing a few feet away and he was only looking, it _felt_ like he was dragging one of his rough hands along the subtle curves of her body. And, no, she wasn't letting emotion play any part of this – any part of _her_ , or so she swore to herself – but she could let herself revel in the wetness that was quickly building and rushing to her entrance as his eyes drank her in like she were an oasis in the middle of the desert.

She was sick of waiting. This is what everything was leading up to, anyway. If she went home tomorrow and pretended nothing had happened, she knew she'd still be staying up late after Zach went to bed, fingering herself to the mental images of him – old and new – and wishing and praying that it was him instead of her fingers bringing her to and over the edge. And after all she'd done, what did this matter? Probably would actually _overjoy_ all of the others – and, no, she wasn't doing this just to spite them. She was doing it because she needed to _feel_ something – but the irony was that she wasn't going to _let_ herself actually feel anything. Except Daryl. Except him consuming her. Like she knew he wanted to, and like she knew she wanted him to. Her head was so fucked up, so full of rage and hurt, and the only thing that she could think of to make any of it go away was this very scenario, which had slammed into her chest with a force like Nelly's hoof, taking her breath away.

She walked over to him, ignoring the slight wobble in her gait.

" _Stop_ , Beth," he warned, but his voice wasn't firm. It was trembling and breathy. "Please. We – _please_ , don't."

And who was he trying to kid, anyway? She could see the bulge in his pants from a fucking mile away, had seen it the very minute she'd removed the first layer of her clothing. Probably even before. Probably even up in her bedroom, when there'd been some semblance of a space between them despite the fragile re-growth or evolution of their relationship. And what the fuck was the point in fighting it? She couldn't fight anymore. Couldn't fight anything. Didn't want to.

So she hastily unbuttoned his shirt as his breathing quickened and his hands twitched at his sides. And she wouldn't do this or have even thought of continuing if she thought he'd actually not wanted to. He did. She knew.

"'S okay, you can touch me," she said, looking into his eyes as she fully removed his shirt. And, _fuck_ , she'd seen him naked just as many times as he'd seen her, but the sight of his body would likely never cease to literally amaze her. He was like a statue with his solid ridges and muscled curves and even his scars were beautiful, and he was like a fucking _god_ – one she'd worshipped for years. One she'd begged to continue to worship for her entire life. But that hadn't been enough, not then.

And maybe she wasn't crying any tears, and not from her eyes, but she was drenched below her waist.

His body jerked a little when she unzipped his pants and pulled them down his legs, along with his boxers. And the glistening head of his hard cock sprung free and rested up against the middle of her belly as he shoved himself forward and into her. Because he couldn't fight it any more than she could. He ran his hands down the exposed front of her and the sides of her, and they felt a little uncertain on her skin, but she could see his cock jump and flex a little with want and desire and heat as his hands cupped her breasts and trailed downward, tracing the silhouetted outline of her torso.

He sucked in a shuddered breath. "This what you want?" He asked. And the rate of her own breathing had increased as the forcefully-subdued emotions inside of her head and her heart attempted to rebel, to knock down the wall and break free. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to say _yes, I want it. But not like this. Never like this._

But instead, she grabbed one his hands and shoved it against her cunt. Swirled his finger around the soaked outer lips of her vagina, dipped them inside of her own body.

"What's it feel like to you?" She'd asked it, but it came out of her more like a moan than a voice.

And he was only human.

He covered her mouth with his, shoving his tongue into it hotly, desperately; and it felt like it was a _yes_ and a _no_ and a _please_ , all at once.

She wrapped a hand around his cock and felt his muscles flex at the contact. And if she were letting herself think about it – which she _wasn't_ – she'd feel the remotely familiar and overwhelming wonder and awe at the difference between the size of her tiny hand and him – something at which she'd always marveled, before. And he felt the same as she remembered; hard and big and thick and eager and like there was no way in hell he'd fit inside of her. But she knew he would. He'd fit like a glove. Like a torturous, beautiful glove that would haunt her forever.

He groaned into her mouth after she'd tightly pumped her hand up and down the entire length of him a few times, and then he breathed out, "gotta stop, Beth. 'Less ya want it to end now."

And there was almost an actual question – or maybe it was a plea – in the latter part of his statement. Like he wouldn't have even minded or asked a single question if she _had_ suddenly stopped and said _"yep, I'm good now, just kidding - see ya later!"_

But she'd already come this far. No turning back.

So she backed up a few paces. Looked at his face and gave him a moment to recover. To ready himself. Inside, outside, whatever. Maybe he needed to turn off his emotions, too.

But, _fuck_ , his face. Had the wall inside of her head not been standing, strong and firm, she probably would've actually cried just from _seeing_ him this way. Not because it was something that she hadn't experienced before. But because of the context – because of everything leading up to this point – all the feelings and confessions and hopes and dreams.

His face and his eyes – they were full of want and hunger, sure; they wanted each other – their bodies didn't and couldn't lie. Not then, not now. But there, in the corners of his eyes and the angles of his face, she saw the definitive signs of blatant resignation and shame and sorrow and apology and pain. And she felt a tightening in her chest – just for a moment – that she shoved away vehemently with the force of her closed-off head.

Despite his face and whatever he might've been feeling, she knew he'd do this. Not because he didn't have the ability to say _no_. He could, and she'd stop and go inside and maybe let the wall come down and just wallow in her pain. Because she wasn't going to force him to do anything, even in the presence her self-inflicted detachment. He'd do it _for her_. And she was fairly certain that he was well aware that she wasn't fully _in this_. Didn't want to be. Couldn't be. Not now. That all of this was something else.

But she kissed him with fervor and did all of the things that she knew – that she remembered – he liked. Pulled at his hair, sucked his bottom lip – hard – into her mouth and licked her way out of his mouth and to his scruffy, muscled neck, where she scraped her teeth along the skin overlying his carotid artery.

And with a heavy sound that was somewhere between a groan of almost-painful pleasure and a whimper of actual pain, he slid his hands around the back of her to her ass cheeks and picked her up and off of the ground. She wrapped her legs around his hips, purposefully but still almost instinctually, as he walked slowly forward until her back was against the wall of the barn, in between slowly rotting, wooden beams where they'd once shared their dreams and hopes for the future. _A_ future – a future that she'd always planned on spending with him. And she could've. But she was wrecked now. And he did it, and her family did it, and she did it. And, right now, she didn't even know who she was or who anyone else was, for that matter.

"Can still stop," he breathed, and his voice was uneven and full of too many emotions to name. Too many for her to hear, all at once, because they'd begun to chip away, just a little, at the resilient wall in her mind, whether she knew it or not. Whether she acknowledged it or not.

She shook her head slowly and he nodded, just as slowly, in response. Acceptance. Understanding.

And she wasn't _giving up_. Not on her life or her happiness or her future, a large part of which was going to collapse into little more than splinters and shards and a gigantic waste of time and tears. It would, at this point, whether they went through with this or not.

No, she wasn't giving up. She was just _giving in_. To the part of her that was _so_ angry, maybe irreparably, and hurt, because that was all she'd been able to feel, and she didn't know how to get past it. And yeah, maybe she was weak. Maybe all of this meant that she was just a weak, helpless little girl. Maybe all the hurt she'd gone through hadn't made her a _damn bit_ stronger. And what did that mean, exactly? That it'd all just been hurt for the sake of hurt? That none of it meant a _goddamned thing_? Her daddy was wrong; she hadn't faced any of her fears. She hadn't prevailed.

His cock was positioned at her entrance and he was fucking shaking with the effort that he was expending to _not_ do this, much as he wanted to – much as she _knew_ he wanted to. Much as she – her body – wanted to and wanted him to. And she'd beg, if she had to.

" _Goddamn_ it, Beth. I'm _sorry_ , baby. I love you," he whispered, voice rough with want and emotion. And a single, thin droplet of a tear rolled down the lateral outline of his cheek just as he pushed himself inside of her. And _god_ , they both moaned at the immense pleasure – and pain, maybe physical or maybe some other kind of pain – as he filled her for the first time in _so_ fucking long.

It didn't last long, but it wasn't like anything else Beth had ever experienced. It – and _he_ – felt incredible. His hot lips and wet saliva coated her neck and chest and tits and she wanted to reach down and rub it all over her face and let it dry there, absorb into her pores so that she could take it with her when she left. And the marks she'd left on his shoulder from her teeth and her nails were all red and bloody afterward.

And it was only when he'd started fucking her so hard that she would've cried, anyway, _despite_ the hardy wall inside of her mind that the inevitable happened. That she truly became weak – or she finally recognized that she was, in fact, the weakest person she knew – in her own mind.

Because it – the wall, the barrier, the only thing she had _left_ – started to bow and shake, like it were nothing more than a flimsy fence in the middle of a vicious tornado. And she felt a pang of bitter disappointment that she couldn't even protect herself.

And he kept fucking her, hard and fast and full, even while he was crying – quietly, but she'd seen him cry a time or two throughout the course of their relationship, and his eyes were red and his cheeks were just barely glistening with the evidence of it. And he brought a hand from around her back and pressed a thumb onto her swollen clit, circling it with equal amounts of tenderness and roughness and purpose.

And, moments later, when she came so hard she thought she might die from hypoxia – at that exact moment – the remnants of her barrier were completely demolished. Lit up in flames and reduced to ashes that'd already blown away before she could begin to grasp what'd happened at all here.

She held on until he came, too, with a grunted _"fuck – oh, fuck,"_ and a series of jerky thrusts up and into her, before she started crying, too. Because this was so far beyond a fuck-up. It was far less and so much more than that, in so many ways. And the most unsettling feeling to her, now, was that it felt like and she _knew_ it was a _goodbye_ , and she resented the unsettled feeling, because that's what she'd _intended_ for it to be. But she'd also intended on keeping her mind numbed by anger. She'd intended on protecting herself now, in the moment, and dealing with the repercussions of this – and everything else – later.

He held her for just a few minutes after, in some kind of a sticky, clumsy embrace, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and shoulder blades and whispered, _"I'm so sorry, Daryl. I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry,"_ through her tears that were falling onto his skin.

He pulled out of her with a soft groan and wordlessly re-dressed himself, wiping at his face frivolously a few times as he did.

She was sobbing – and of course she was. Of course the tears hadn't run dry, they never ever would. And she couldn't do anything but just allow the large tears to slide down her face and onto her chest and stomach and eventually almost to the apex of her cunt, where she was still wet and a little sticky from their mingled fluids, as she dressed herself just a few feet away from him. And she couldn't blame him for this. Or anyone else.

He was standing still with his face angled downward. His shoulders were hunched forward and he wasn't biting on his thumbnail or kicking at the ground. Wasn't quite looking at her, though she knew in some ways he wasn't looking at anything but her. His hair was covering the majority of his face – maybe just because of the tilt of his head or the length of his hair, or maybe because he didn't want her to see it. To see him. But she didn't need to. She knew that it mirrored her own.

"This is how we end?" He asked it quietly. She knew he'd know, after it was all done. And she just stared at the ground in between them for a few silent, sad moments.

"What other way was there?" She responded with a question of her own. A question for _herself_ just as much as for him.

" _Bullshit_ ," he snapped. And the tone of his voice caused her to lift her head and meet his eyes, which were glaring, cold and hard, into hers.

"Gonna go marry him now? Now that ya fucked me outta your system?"

"Ain't about him. It's about _me_ ," she said, and her voice wasn't as strong as she would've liked it to have been, but it didn't sound entirely weak. Not entirely full of self-pity. "And no. Not goin' to marry him. Ain't figured out how to end it without hurtin' a _good man_ , but I'm gonna. 'Cause he _deserves_ better than me."

"That what you think?" He snorted. And it was humorless. Emotionless.

"That's what I know. This – _we_ – are _toxic_. We will _kill_ each other - don't you _get_ that, Daryl? Ya didn't want me 'til it was convenient for _you_. Didn't support me, much as ya like to claim. And I – I fucking – I _needed_ you. You were my fucking boyfriend for _seven years_ , Daryl. And you just cut the cord, like it was _nothin_ '! And even after three years of you fuckin' _ignorin'_ me, all I could think about was bein' with you again. Even after you made me feel like I was _crazy_ , like we never even fuckin' _existed_. Since the moment I fuckin' came here. All I can think 'bout is how much I fuckin' loved you – how much I still do. That ain't _right_. That ain't _real_." The volume of her voice had risen and sounded hoarse and strained as it echoed off of the walls of the barn.

"How long do I gotta fuckin' pay?" His voice was louder now, too. And she was simultaneously aching for his heart and pissed that he was still making this about _him_. About how long he'd _waited_. And, fine. Maybe he'd waited, but she'd fucking waited and suffered and _died_.

"Guess you'll be the one decidin' that," she was quieter now, "'cause nobody should be in charge of our lives, 'cept for us. And I'm done. Done lettin' people run mine. Tryin' to run it. _Lyin' and lyin' and lyin'_."

"Ain't never gonna be anythin' but yours, Beth," he whispered, and his head was upright now and facing hers, fully. "Can't ever be. I'm in love with you. I. Am. In. Love. With. You." He breathed each word out separately, as if none of them belonged together in the same sentence. As if each word meant something different to him.

"And I ain't gonna stop. 'Til ya find somethin' or someone better. An' you an' I both know that y'ain't gonna. 'Cause, right now, I _know_ how fuckin' confused you are. Sayin' _this_ ain't _real_? Bull _shit_. Realest it gets. An' I've wasted _so_ much time, Beth. I know that. But ya gotta forgive me. Ya gotta let me try an' make it right."

His voice was a kaleidoscope of emotion – determined but fearful and uncertain but absolute and pleading and desperate and gentle but hard. And she felt each of them – one by one – much as she tried not to.

"I can't, Daryl. I'm sorry. I love you – _god_ , I _love_ you. I do, and I ain't said it out loud in _so_ damn long. But I can't. I can't let myself – can't put myself, knowingly, in a situation where you can just – just kill me all over again. I ain't strong enough. I ain't invincible. I'm only human."

She watched as his throat elevated and dipped as he swallowed. As he sucked in breath after ragged, devastated breath.

"Don't give up on us," he said tightly.

She felt her stomach drop, and she knew that this wasn't going anywhere. Not now. Nothing more could come of this – of them – tonight. She had to go inside. Sleep. Pack her shit, maybe. She'd wait until she and Zach got home to talk to him. To break his fucking heart. To give him back the ring. To apologize and tell him that coming home – something she'd both longed and feared for in equal measure – had ruined everything they'd built together in New York.

But she felt the dwindling of the spark inside of her gut as she passed by Daryl and opened the door to their stall – the door to _their place_. The door to their safe haven and secret hideout and heaven and hell, to all of their beginnings and their end.

"I never gave up on _us_ , Daryl. Just you. Just _me_."

She shrugged - in resignation and apology and acceptance - at him and then walked out of the barn. Away from her past and her present and what she'd always hoped would be her future and her forever and the father of her children. And she'd single-handedly destroyed so many hearts tonight that hers was, _finally_ , the last one on her mind.


	7. i know the last page so well

**chapter 7: i know the last page so well (i can't read the first)**

Beth tossed and turned in her bed, wondering how she'd gotten here. To this place. Externally. Internally. So quickly. To a place that'd once been full of nothing but home and hope and love and big dreams. How she'd transformed into this person. A person she didn't even recognize. A person for whom she didn't particularly care.

She hadn't meant for what'd happened tonight to happen. Any of it, really. Snapping at her sister, embarrassing her family, kissing and having sex with her ex-boyfriend. But she'd come to realize that, even when she thought she'd been in control, life had a way of exerting some form of its own control over her. Even when she thought she'd had it all figured out, reality could harshly snap its wild teeth and, in an instant, – in a day – separate the known and the unknown.

It could be enlightening, too. It could unearth the deepest parts of people and expose the very skeletons from which they were made. Reveal their real fears, real wants. Sometimes it was painful. Sometimes, maybe, it had to be.

She'd packed her bags before she'd crawled into bed and was currently weighing her options in the middle of the night. She'd planned on waiting until they were back in New York to tell Zach. But the more she thought about it, now, the less appealing that particular option felt.

She could tell Zach in the morning, instead, and let him return to New York without her. Allow him the space that she was sure he'd want and need. She could stay home for a few more days and make things right with her family before returning.

She could still wait, like she'd initially intended and thought would be best, until her and Zach both returned to New York. She could tell him that they needed to talk. Ask to stay with a coworker or a friend for a few days while he figured things out.

She could knock on his door across the hall and tell him now. Not waste another _second_ of his life. Of hers.

In the end, she'd dozed off still contemplating it all. And her dreams were blurred visions of wedding dresses and her daddy's knowing smile as he led her down a white aisle. She couldn't see who was waiting for her at the end or at least couldn't remember who it may've been, and maybe it didn't matter, because when she awoke the next morning, she actually felt refreshed. Like some kind of clarity had been pumped into her during the night.

She'd thrown her old bathrobe on top of her nightclothes and gone downstairs quietly. She hadn't slept much at all. But she felt alive. Awake. Alert. It was still early – much earlier than she necessarily needed to be awake. The flight back to New York – upon which she most likely wouldn't be a passenger – wasn't until mid-afternoon.

She was mildly surprised to find Maggie sitting alone at the dining room table when she reached the main floor of the house. The dim rays from the sunrise filtered into the house through the blinds, illuminating her sister's dark hair. Her pained eyes.

"Hi," Beth whispered as she walked over toward her. She pulled out the chair next to Maggie and sat, swiveling her body so that she could face her.

"I'm so sorry, Beth." Her voice was quiet. Genuine. Her eyes were glistening a little with unreleased tears.

"It's okay." And she meant it. It was. She understood. Didn't mean that it hadn't hurt her. It had. It did. But she understood, all of a sudden. Like this had been a particle of that clarity that'd covered her like a warm blanket overnight - and she could still feel the warmth of it over her now. And she wasn't angry anymore.

"Wasn't my place or – or maybe I should've told ya sooner. But I didn't know 'til ya called that ya'll – that you an' Zach – had gotten so serious so fast. An' I know all ya went through, an' ya seemed happy, but I just – I guess I freaked out. 'Cause I know what _he_ meant to ya – what he still does. Didn't feel right, you not knowin'." And a few tears had started to rain down and onto her cheeks from her big, beautiful green eyes - ones that were usually filled with laughter or mischief.

"Thank you, Maggie. Really. I'm glad – I mean not _glad_ , but I – guess I appreciate it, maybe. You orchestratin' all that, just for me. It felt like you were – like you and daddy were – I'unno, tryin' to control my life. Tryin' to sabotage this little bit of happiness that I thought I'd finally found. But things'd happened – I mean, I'd been kind'a relivin' things, already. Since I got here, really. Rethinkin' things. Even before I learned all of _that_. Just seein' him, talkin' to him – I thought maybe it'd bring some closure, I guess. But it really just – it made me wanna re-evaluate my life. My choices. And I do wish you'd told me sooner, but at least ya didn't wait 'til I was walkin' down the aisle, right?" Beth lightened her voice a little for the sake of her sister.

Maggie laughed softly and gently tucked a stray strand of Beth's hair behind her ear. And then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her. And Beth reciprocated the embrace.

"So what're ya gonna do?" Maggie asked as she released Beth and wiped her eyes.

"Gonna end things with Zach. Soon as he wakes up, I think. I – I – Daryl and I, last night, we – were _together_ , Maggie. He told me he was still in love with me," and now Beth was crying and choking on the tears, just a little, very softly. But her voice had become strained. And she felt some kind of shame and guilt as she revealed what'd happened to her sister – her sister, who she'd always been able to talk to, openly and freely, about anything. Her sister, who she'd called right after the first time she and Daryl had had sex. Who she'd called, night after night, when they'd broken up. When she'd been sad and alone and wanted to come home.

"And I told him I still loved him. And I do. Always have. And I'm so - so _terrible_ – I can't believe what I did – I can't believe – I was just so hurt and confused and just bein' here – bein' with him again, I couldn't – "

Maggie pressed three flattened, warm fingers over Beth's trembling lips, quieting her building hysteria.

"Shh, Beth. 'S okay. You ain't terrible, okay? We can't control everythin', 'specially love. An' we're all just humans, fuckin' up, over an' over, an' it sucks, but what makes you _you_ is that you _can_ an' _will_ get through it. You'll do the right thing. Y'always do." Maggie's voice was filled with a kind of tenderness that Beth wasn't sure she deserved from anyone right now.

"Ain't so sure 'bout that." She looked down at the table, at the small fleshy pile created by her hands cupped over one another. "Is anythin' really _right_ when ya only do it after ya fuck up? After you betray someone? After you do somethin' you'd never think you were even capable of doin'?"

"Sometimes ya gotta fuck it up to _know_ that it's right. To know _what's_ right." Maggie smiled and placed her hands over Beth's. "Gonna stick around a few more days, then?"

Beth nodded. "Figure neither one of us are gonna be up for the world's most awkward flight. It'll be better this way. Can give him a few days, hang out with ya'll some more since the weekend went by so fast."

"You're tellin' me. I don't think Glenn's gonna wake up 'til after Christmas," Maggie sighed lightly. "Ain't seen him that sloshed since our weddin'."

"It was fun. Hangin' out like that," Beth said. "An' I'm sorry I haven't been able to come home more. Hopin' now that I'm gettin' into the swing of things with my job that I can plan my vacations out a li'l better."

Maggie shrugged. "We'll always be here. You gotta do what's best for you."

"Always thought – planned – on comin' back here. Once I graduated. But then, with Zach – it just got complicated. Maybe it'll work out now."

"It will. An' don't ya forget it, neither. When ya figure out when you're gonna fly out an' everythin', let me know. Me or Glenn can get ya to the airport. I'm gonna go on, get ready for church." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Beth's cheek. "I gotta go into Atlanta later today, drop some papers off at the office. If ya take Zach to the airport, let me know – I can come an' get ya, bring ya back home. I love you, Beth Ann."

"I love you too, Mags. See ya later."

Xxx

Beth was back upstairs, showered and blow-drying her hair, when Zach knocked on the slightly-ajar door to her bedroom.

"Morning, beautiful." He smiled. Already dressed up in his suit of the day. He hugged her tightly and pressed a kiss to her temple.

And her choice was solidified when she felt herself flinch, just slightly, away from him. It wasn't right. She couldn't go back with him, knowing all she'd done and all she needed to say. She couldn't let him kiss her and hug her and tell her that he loved her and that he couldn't wait to get married and talk about the weekend, like it'd been something that hadn't shaken up her entire world.

"Hi, Zach. Think we could – we need to talk," she stuttered a little, but it was okay. The sooner the better, and she wanted to handle this – _him_ – with care. Because he was a good man. And she wasn't quite sure where she'd be if she hadn't found him when she had. And maybe that was a selfish way to look at things, but it hadn't all been in vain. They'd had good times and laughter and experiences that she wouldn't trade for anything, not even a lifetime with Daryl Dixon.

"Sure, Beth," he said cheerily, sitting at the edge of her bed. About where Daryl had been sitting the previous night. Before her emotions had crashed into her and consumed her and directed her, like she'd been a robot. A puppet.

She sat down cautiously beside him, leaving some space in between their bodies. In between their hearts.

"I have to tell you somethin'. It's not – it's _bad_ , Zach."

His lips curled down into a frown and his dark eyes darted over her face, questioning, maybe searching for answers. He looked concerned. For _her_.

"Tell me, Beth. You can tell me anything, you know that."

"Well first –" she started, taking a deep breath. Started fidgeting with her hands in her lap and her mind was suddenly filled with images of Daryl, twitchy and nervous. She shook them away.

"I haven't been completely honest. With you. About everythin'."

"This about you and Mr. Dix – er, Daryl?"

Her body stiffened, and she was sure he'd seen it. And his face – his expression – wasn't angry. There was no malice there, not that she could see. But his words had stunned her into a tight silence.

"I'm not blind, Beth. I can see that you and he – you had something," he said quietly, not quite meeting her eyes.

She nodded as she absorbed his words. And she was almost thankful that he'd figured this part out independently.

"You're right. It was more – more than somethin', Zach. It was _everythin'_ , once. I've been – I'm – I've been in love with him since I was just a girl. We were together for a long time, 'til right before I moved to New York." It took longer than it normally would for her to push the words out of her mouth. But she felt an instant release of at least a little of the weight that'd been nestled inside her head and her heart as she'd said them. In place of the weight – that'd been filled with guilt, with shame – she now felt an insistent and pressing sorrow. For him.

"Still love him?" And she heard a pang of hurt there in his voice, but it wasn't enough to discourage her. From this. From honesty. And it was easier than she'd thought it'd be. And she thought that that was simply because the honest truth was that she did _care_ about Zach. Enough to be honest, even when she knew it would hurt him.

"Yes."

"Do you love me?" His eyes met hers, and she could see that he was holding his breath.

"Yes." She didn't hesitate; it was true, she did love him. She loved them both. But only one of them had her heart; only one would ever have it the way that a man _should_ have a woman's heart. Even if they wouldn't end up together. Even if they couldn't find a way to get past their past and all the pain and resentment that lived - could live eternally - inside of it.

Zach nodded and pressed his tightly lips together, considering her words.

"But you're _in love_ with him." It wasn't a question, but she nodded again in response. Maybe with some sadness, but mostly just in clear affirmation. Because he deserved it.

He nodded too. "I had a feeling. Wasn't sure why. Something about the way you look at him or the way he looks at you or the way your entire family adores him yet holds some deep-seeded – I don't know – pain, or something, when it comes to him. The way you'd never mentioned him, or much of your past, I guess. And I thought that maybe I wasn't doing enough. So I thought that when I went with your family, started looking around for a place to get married, that it'd compensate for whatever I'd been lacking. Even though I felt that it was jumping the gun - quite a bit, really. But then I could see that it only made things more – I don't know, tense, or something. Between us. Among your family members."

And she was encouraged by the contemplation – the unasked questions – in his voice and words.

"I hadn't seen him in a long time. Since the last time I was home. He never – he never came to New York. Well – I mean, he didn't ever come there and _see_ me. And everythin' just came rushin' back. And – I have to tell you – I'm so sorry, but I did - _things_ , Zach. With him. Last night, I – " Her confidence had been stripped away, just a little, and the words were beginning to feel like rocks lodged in her throat, trying to stop her from inflicting pain on him. But she had to be truthful, she had to -

"I don't want to hear about it, Beth," he said in a pained whisper. "Please. I don't need to. I could tell something'd changed when we got here. Knew it wasn't intentional. You're not like that. Wouldn't bring me here to meet your amazing family if you'd have known or been able to control it. I'm not saying I agree with - with whatever you may've done. But I know you wouldn't hurt anyone if you could help it."

Her eyes filled with tears at his almost-peaceful acceptance. She slipped the engagement ring he'd given her off of her finger and handed it to him wordlessly. He held it in his hand, turning it this way and that so that the light reflected across all of the diamonds. Just stared at it with a kind of sadness that she could feel.

"I'm so sorry, Zach. I never meant for this to happen – none of it. You have to know that. I need you to."

He shrugged sadly, letting his shoulders hunch a bit with the weight of it all.

"I know, Beth. And now can I say something?"

"Please. Yes."

"Can't say I regret anything. Can't say I'm sorry that we met – that Rosita set us up. You're fun and beautiful and so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. And I'm not - I'm not _happy_. About any of this. But I can't be mad – not really. I'm hurt. But if it – if you and Daryl and whatever it was and whatever it is – is really the force that it seems to be, so much that I could _feel_ it, just being here, then I know that it must be _bigger_ than you. And him. And I love you, Beth. You deserve to be happy. Doesn't matter if it's with me or him or someone else entirely or just by yourself. Coming here was good for you. I guess it was good for us, even, in some twisted way, wasn't it? We couldn't just live in a bubble for the rest of our lives."

"I think so, too." She whispered it, still slightly stunned by the way Zach was handling all of this. Still stunned that he – someone, in the grand scheme of things, she hadn't known all that long – had sensed this, recognized it, and identified it long before she'd even been willing to _acknowledge_ it.

Zach stood up and walked over to the window. "Just glad I held off telling any of my family about the engagement," he sighed, and she was a little surprised by that with how excited he'd been the previous night and even before they'd come to Georgia. "Think it'd be okay if – just I – I mean, I know plane tickets aren't cheap, but –"

"Oh, no. Of course. I was already plannin' on stayin' here. Few more days. Give ya some space and time."

"Thanks, Beth. Yeah – time," he sighed. "We're going to be okay, you and me."

She felt another tear roll down her cheek, because this man was going to make _some girl_ so incredibly happy one day. Some girl who could give him her entire heart, just for him. She knew it in her bones. _She_ just wasn't that girl, and, if she thought about it, she never had been. Never could have been.

"Zach, you have to know that – that you really did save me. Brought me back from the dead. And I just feel like such a – a heinous, lyin' bitch, doin' this to ya. But I couldn't lie – not to you. Not to myself. Not anymore. But ya gotta know that, one day, some girl is gonna love you the way you deserve to be loved. Way more than I ever possibly _could_ , whether we'd come here or not."

Her voice was shaky but it was okay. _They_ were okay. And some part of her knew that they would be – maybe not right away. And she wasn't going to over-analyze this. Not now. Because sometimes the hardest parts of life were actually the easiest, and the things that should've been easy were more like climbing Mt. Everest in flip-flops.

Xxx

Beth had driven Zach to the airport later that day. He'd been reluctant at first but conceded when she'd told him that she wanted to see him off, wanted to tell him goodbye. And their goodbye had been emotional and apologetic and stiff, but, really it'd been amiable. He said he'd text her when he landed, when he got home. He'd let her know whether or not their apartment had been robbed (a joke they'd shared for quite some time – Beth's apartment building wasn't in the greatest neighborhood, after all) and when he'd figured out what he was going to do as far as finding a living space. And then when time had passed, he'd call her to talk. Get some coffee or lunch. Catch up. That she could always call him if she needed to.

She'd just started to drive out of the drop-off zone when she saw _him_. Sprinting – well, as close to sprinting as he could manage, she assumed.

She rolled down the passenger window and slammed her foot on the brake.

"What in the hell are you doin'?" She yelled, but he didn't seem to hear her, not at first anyway. So she yelled his name a few more times, and he'd finally recognized her.

And then his face was hanging inside of the car through the half-opened window, breathing heavily and swearing with what little breath he had left in his lungs.

"Goddamn, girl. Timin' is impeccable," he said between his heaving breaths.

"What are ya doin' here, Merle? Fuck up another drug deal? Tryin' to leave town again?" She smiled a little as she teased him.

"Well, either that or I's gonna find that air-o-plane you's 'bout to get on an' tell 'em I's a cop an' you were fugitive on the run from the law, li'l lady." He opened the car door and sat down, breaths still labored. He wore a half-unbuttoned Hawaiian-themed shirt (which was the dead giveaway, to Beth, that it was actually him) and sweat was running down the side of his shaven head.

"I'm sure that would'a worked well. Ya look like a sexual predator, Merle, _Jesus_."

He laughed, loud and hoarse. "'S exactly what li'l bro said when I's leavin' the house. An' you look like a girl that don't know what the hell she's doin'. Miss your flight? Need a place to stay? I got _all kinds_ o' room in my bed."

Beth sighed and put the car in drive and headed toward the rental place across the street.

"Ya droppin' this beauty off? We could pro'ly make a run for it. Head outta town for a while, get that pretty li'l head o' yours back on straight – can think o' all sorts o' _fun stuff_ we could do." He winked despite his persistent appearance of exhaustion. Where the hell had he even parked? Surely he hadn't run clear to Atlanta -

"Yeah, no thanks. I hear grand theft auto carries a pretty heavy sentence 'round here. Maggie's gonna pick me up later. She's gotta come to the city for work stuff, anyhow." Maggie hadn't been entirely specific on the _time_ she'd be there to pick Beth up, but she figured she could keep herself busy for a few hours before she started harassing her sister.

"Aw, hell, tell Mae I got'cha. Gotta say, I was kind'a pissed, li'l sis. That ya wasn't even gon' come over, say goodbye to ol' Merle." He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, preparing to light it, when Beth stomped on the brake - which caused his body to comically fly forward in his seat (of course he didn't wear a seatbelt. Ever, not that Beth could recall anyway) - so that she could yank it from his mouth.

"Good god, Merle. Not in the rental. The hell's the matter with you?" Beth sighed, tossing it out the window.

"Hey! Ya could'a just gave it back, ya feisty li'l thing. Now ya owe me." He rubbed his hands together like some kind of evil scientist who'd just come up with a revolutionary breakthrough. And it almost made her laugh.

Beth pulled into the parking lot of the rental office. She was in and out quickly and had rejoined Merle outside.

"So why're ya really here?" She asked quietly as he stood beside her in the hot sun, smoking and sweating and swearing under his breath.

He shrugged. "Just thought I'd make sure that _you_ 's sure. Gathered somethin'd happened 'cause baby bro came home last night beggin' for whiskey. Ain't done that in a while. Got all kinds o' fucked up. But now I'm all sorts o' confused, 'cause I reckoned you'd be up in the sky by now, if he was drinkin' for the reason I thought he was."

"Is he home?" She asked, feeling a tightening in her chest.

"Home? Yeah, guess ya could say that. _Dead to the world_ 's more like it. But he's 'round."

"Take me there?" She asked, and she wasn't quite sure why, but she wanted to talk to Daryl again. And, yeah, she had a few days. But she felt the need to talk to him burning in her chest almost just as strongly as the need to talk to Zach had been this morning.

"'Long as yain't gonna cause him to start up his drinkin' shit again," Merle side-eyed her, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke in her direction.

"Can't hardly stand him when he's sober, let alone when he's drunk an' whinin' an' playin' some damn Bon Jovi bullshit all night long," and he laughed his ridiculous laugh again as he flung a strong, sweaty arm around Beth's shoulders. "Personally, I tend to like _our_ song better. Sad too, but ain't so goddamn _whiny_."

Xxx

They arrived at the house a half hour – give or take, Merle had always driven like a fucking maniac, and Beth had been silently fearing for her life the entire trip – later. She'd texted Maggie to tell her not to worry about giving her a ride home and that she'd see her later at home.

As they turned into the drive, Beth was surprised at the feeling of nostalgia that'd suddenly started floating - inside and outside of her, like an aura - when she saw their Dixon brothers' home again after so long.

She didn't think about the last time she'd been there.

It was a mobile home, not far from the Greene farm. Secluded. Surrounded by forests in which the brothers often hunted – for survival as well as recreation. The manufactured shell of the home that was once a deep, rich red color had faded quite a bit. The shutters surrounding the few small windows were broken or crooked or even missing entirely. She'd spent so much of her time there. She noticed the rose bush she'd planted years ago – before she and Daryl were even officially together – at one end of the house was still there and it'd expanded in width and grown in height and looked to be one of the few elements that'd been kept up and tended to around here.

Merle parked the car and moved to open the door and get out, but, on an impulse, Beth shot her arm across the console and grasped his shoulder to stop him.

"'S wrong?" He asked.

"I'unno. I'unno why I thought I should come here and talk to him. Maybe – maybe just take me home. I'm gonna be here a few days, I can pro'ly just talk to him another time, maybe when he's out at the farm workin' or somethin'."

He sighed and turned his body toward hers. He was still sweating. The air conditioning in the car didn't work – hadn't for a long time.

"Better do it now. While ya wanna. While you're here an' there ain't nowhere to hide. Ain't been an easy day for ya, I'm sure o' that, Beth Ann, an' this ain't gonna make it any easier. But ya don't do it now, then yain't gonna. Or mayhaps you'll try 'gain in a few days an' ya won't do it then, neither. Then you'll be back in New York an' beatin' your brains, wonderin' why ya didn't do it when ya wanted to." Merle's face was serious – almost thoughtful – as he spoke.

"So get your ass in there. Talk, scream, cry – do what ya gotta. 'Cause no matter what, you'll feel better for it. _I'll_ feel better for it, too, knowin' I didn't let ya chicken out like I let him."

She tried to swallow, but again found that her mouth was dry. Her eyes were dry, too, and she was glad for that. She just wanted to say what she needed to say and get the fuck out of there and go home. She had more fences to mend.

Xxx

Merle pretended to busy himself under the hood of the old Buick, whistling loudly to himself, as Beth climbed the few steps up to the door and entered the home.

It smelled like stale alcohol and stale pizza and cigarette smoke. Which was how it'd always smelled. Looked the same as it always had. Not much in the way of furniture. Old television set still sat on the wooden stand her daddy had helped Daryl build years ago. Hunting rifles and various guns and Daryl's crossbow still hung in the glass cabinet in the living room. All the blinds were closed, Beth noticed, and it almost made her smile – the way that Merle cared for people – mostly for Daryl – in his own subtle ways.

She passed through the kitchen, glancing briefly at the sink – filled with dishes – and the cluttered countertops, and made her way to the bedroom at the north end of the house. It was the biggest bedroom of the house and had its own bathroom. Merle had insisted that it be Daryl's, because _"you're gonna be here lot more'n I am, li'l brother. I ain't got much use for a room o' my own."_

The door was wide open, so she walked in and was surrounded by little more than more darkness. A deeper darkness, maybe, one that she felt inside of herself. Her feet were catching on what she assumed were articles of clothing strewn about on the floor and, as she inched closer to the bed – the same bed that'd always been there, the same bed in which she used to regularly sleep – she heard his soft snores.

The clock on the bedside table read four pm. So she didn't feel too guilty about waking him up. And she didn't necessarily want to freak him out – not that he wouldn't be anyway, just to see her there – so she simply walked further into the room and quietly opened the blinds that covered the windows that were adjacent to the head of Daryl's bed.

And that was enough. Even in his most drunken state, all he'd ever needed was a little light in his life.

"Fuck _off_ , asshole," he mumbled, covering his face with a pillow.

She stayed silent for a few moments, wondering if she should speak up or clear her throat or something.

"Such a dick. Just wait 'til next time you're drunk an' passed out. Gonna fuckin' light this house up like it's fuckin' Christmas an' - "

His voice had stopped as soon as he'd uncovered his head and his eyes had snapped over toward her. As soon as he'd realized he wasn't talking to his brother.

And his eyes narrowed a little as he looked her over. And he looked confused and happy and fearful and angry, all at once.

"Hi," she whispered, still standing a few feet away from him. Away from the bed. Between the bed and the door, in case she needed to make a quick escape.

"Uh, sorry – thought ya were Merle –" he replied, pulling himself up into a long-sitting position. He used a hand to flatten his hair, which was a total wreck, and his eyes darted around the room. Probably embarrassed for the state of the room – he'd never been a _neat freak_ by any means, but here in the light, Beth could more easily imagine Daryl _trying_ to make the room into a complete mess rather than it just happening naturally or over time.

"It's okay," she said. "I – uh – I'm sorry to bother ya. Turns out I'm gonna be stayin' a couple days before headin' back to New York. Was just hopin' we could talk."

He nodded, now biting at his thumbnail. "Merle here?"

"Yeah, found his crazy ass at the airport, runnin' around like a damn lunatic. He gave me a ride here, gonna take me back home later. But he's workin' on the car or somethin'."

Daryl's forehead wrinkled with confusion, but he shrugged it off for the time being.

"'Kay, let me get up an' we'll talk. Uh – there's food. An' shit. In the fridge. If ya want."

She smiled at him and left the room, shutting his door behind her. Walked back out to the living room, careful not to look at anything too closely. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to handle it. It was amazing enough that she was able to handle _this_ – just being here. And maybe she was more resilient that she'd ever thought. Because this should've broken her. Last night, what she did, what she heard and saw - that should've _broken_ her - the person she knew.

And, maybe somewhere deep inside, it did, just a little.

But she felt a strength, too. A determination and a newfound sense of self. And she wasn't going to back out.

He came into the living room a few moments later, after stopping by the fridge and downing what looked to be a good half-gallon of water straight from the jug.

He sat down in Merle's ratty armchair across the room from where Beth sat on the ratty, pea-colored loveseat that was still ripped in multiple spots and missing any sort of supporting platform underneath its sunken cushions.

"So ya stayed," he said quietly, crossing one ankle over the other knee and continuing to bite at his thumb as he regarded her.

She nodded. "Told Zach this mornin'. Couldn't stomach pretendin' everythin' was okay for an entire two-hour flight."

"Didn't figure ya could," he muttered. "He a'right?"

She winced a little, surprised that he'd asked that particular question.

Shrugging, she said, "he will be. Wasn't mad, not really. Said he knew somethin'd changed since we got here. Guessed that it had to do with you. Was understandin', almost. Not happy or anythin', but just kind'a – accepted it, I guess. Givin' him some time to figure stuff out 'fore I go back."

He nodded and his face remained mostly neutral. He wasn't _happy_ , either. Understandably.

"Listen, I just – I wanted to apologize. For last night. I'unno – I just – we felt like a tickin' time bomb. And bein' here, hearin' all you had to say, all everyone else had to say – it just, I'unno – kind of messed my head up. Didn't mean for it to happen. I wouldn't ever do that. It was like I was outside of it all. Just watchin' myself, but it wasn't really _myself_ I was watchin'. I was mad and hurt and confused and - "

"I get it," he said, voice quiet. "Don't want it to be how this all ends. Just a bad memory. Bad decision. 'Cause it ain't. An' I could'a tried a li'l harder to stop ya. An' I been beatin' myself up, wonderin' why I didn't. Wonderin' why I let ya go through with that – 'cause I know it wasn't you. Wonderin' why I done all the shit I done. Shit I didn't do. An' all I can figure is that we ain't here to do everythin' right all the time. I couldn't stop it any more'n you. Can't always control shit. An' it ain't good, what happened. Don't feel good 'bout it, either. But I ain't felt good 'bout a lotta shit that's happened 'tween us. An' it ain't stopped me from hopin'."

"I didn't want ya to think I did it just 'cause I was mad – at you or my family or anythin'. Or tryin' to get back at anyone 'cause I was hurt. That was all - maybe it was a part of it, I guess. And I ain't makin' any excuses for myself – I just. Needed you to know."

"I do," he said, lifting his eyes to hers.

And then she felt another kind of clarity, a kind that rushed into her slowly at first and then all at once, like a breath she'd inhaled. Maybe this – all of this – is what needed to happen. Maybe she had to face it – even if that meant and had resulted in messing up, hurting herself and others, falling down, acting in a way that she didn't even recognize – in order to move past it.

"I'm gonna – I'll be back 'round Christmas time," she said, standing up. "Maybe I'll call ya. Just in case I don't see ya 'fore I go back to New York. And, I - I meant what I said, but I think I just need – some time, maybe. Spent so much time livin' in the past and then livin' in fear of facin' everythin' from the past that I – I just wanna figure it all out. Figure myself out, I guess."

He nodded and stood, too, keeping the distance between them.

"Glad ya came by. Glad ya came home. Wish I'd o' done things different." He said the words slowly and quietly and sadly.

She shook her head a little, crossing her arms and hugging them into herself.

"Can't do that. Gotta let things like that go. Put 'em away."

"What if ya can't?" He asked with quiet curiosity.

"Have to. Or it'll kill ya, Daryl," she whispered.

And then Merle drove her home. And he was silent, which she'd appreciated. Jumped out of the car when they reached the Greene farm and ran around to the other side to open the door for her.

"So _gentlemanly_ of you, Merle," she teased.

"Yain't even know just how _gentle_ this man can be, li'l sis," he winked, and she smiled as the sides of the collar of his still-unbuttoned shirt waved around in the light breeze.

"Thank you," she whispered, suddenly feeling everything again, all at once – overwhelmed and confused and ashamed and relieved. "For everythin', Merle."

He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"Ain't nothin', doll. Just doin' what I can to keep the world in one piece. Now you take that sassy ass inside, spend some time with your family. An' then, get on back to New York. Figure shit out. Oughtta be a li'l easier, now that ya know everythin'."

"I'unno a damn thing," she breathed as she kept her arms clasped around his shoulders for another moment.

He backed up, releasing her, and smiled.

"Know more'n ya think. Always have. Just too damned hurt an' removed from everythin' t' even think 'bout what it all means. Ain't got but this one life, Beth Ann. Never too late t' start livin' it the way ya want."

He winked crassly and walked back around to the drivers' seat and Beth watched as he pulled out of the driveway, considering his words. And she wondered why life was like this – why she had to go through all of this, just to end up back at square one. Square one with a little more understanding, at least. Square one without feeling like she'd die as soon as she left this place. Square one knowing that she did only have the guarantee of this one life. And maybe one day she'd look back at all of this and be appreciative. Thankful, maybe. Look back at her moments of – what she now considered as – some kind of weakness and see them for what they truly were. An awakening. And she'd thank god that he'd pushed her into this, challenged her to rise above, challenged her to mess up – _badly_ – and come out the other side, alive. And maybe even stronger for it.

Xxx

The family played cards at the dining room table that evening after supper. Glenn and Maggie were over. Shawn was sober and snarky.

Her momma and daddy hadn't been upset when she'd told them. And she'd first told them earlier that day – the bare bones of it at least. And she'd still mostly spared them the details. And they didn't seem all that surprised, really, though they worried for the safety and well-being of Zach. And Beth did, too.

She'd call her office the next day, tell them she wouldn't be in until later in that week. Annette had already been on the phone with the airlines and had written down all of the potential flights that Beth could take over the next several days.

She let everything go – or at least tried to, at least for the time being. Immersed herself in the feeling of being with her family, of listening to their banter and laughter. Let herself and her mind – full as it was – be present. In the moment. Let herself laugh at how badly Glenn tried to cheat when they played poker. At how seriously Maggie took the game and told him, in so many words, to _find another activity with which to occupy himself if he couldn't play the game correctly_.

Annette had planned dinners for the week, invited Maggie and Glenn to come over and join them if they were able to and kindly _requested_ the presence of Shawn.

"Decided I'm gonna come home 'round Christmas," Beth said, as they started to clean up the cards and finish off the dishes.

"Oh, honey, that's great!" Annette replied, smiling widely. "I'll make all your favorites."

"Oh, _horse shit_ , momma Greene! She comes home for two Christmases in the past four years an' now _she_ gets to pick the meal? That ain't fair!" Glenn whined. But he was smiling.

"Well, now, Mr. Rhee. Use that language 'round me again an' I might _never_ let ya pick a meal again," she warned.

He huffed. "They say yain't s'posed to have favorites. Ain't never seen a family that didn't have one. An' it's always the damn baby."

"Oh my Lord, Glenn. You're an _only_ child. Don't give me none o' that," Maggie said, laughing. "Your momma still tucked ya in 'til ya were fifteen! Ya tried to cover up the speaker of the phone when we'd be talkin' 'round bed time, but I heard it all."

Glenn kissed Maggie on the cheek. "Guess that's why I'm so damn demandin'. Fine, fine – Beth can have this year. But next year it's my pick."

Maggie shook her head and whispered to Beth, "he hates corn. Don't know how the hell that happened, but all of a sudden in the past few years, he won't eat the shit. Just so ya have the intel – I know how much ya _love_ momma's corn bread. An' corn on the cob. An' maybe ya could request for everythin' else to be made in corn oil." She winked and Beth laughed.

"G'night, ya'll. See ya tomorrow," Maggie yelled as they left the house.

Shawn mumbled a half-assed _goodnight_ and went up the stairs to his room. And Beth was sure she'd be able to hear the sounds of screeching and out-of-tune guitars coming from his _iPod_ when he played his favorite – well, _music_ , she guessed, though that was an entirely light and questionable use of the word in her own opinion.

"Just wanna say thank you. For not bein' disappointed in me," Beth said to her parents when the three of them had been left alone.

"Honey, ya couldn't do anythin' that would make us disappointed. Well, unless – I guess maybe if ya robbed a bank. Or got pregnant outta wedlock. Or divorced. But, no, we ain't." Annette pressed a kiss to the top of Beth's head.

"Your life, baby girl. Ya just ain't been able to _live it_ , not the right way, not knowin' everythin'. An' we all make mistakes. Wouldn't be human if we didn't. But, like I've said 'fore, ya get to come back from it. Point of mistakes is so ya won't make 'em again. So you'll learn from 'em." Hershel spoke with a quiet conviction that spread, warmly and gently, throughout Beth's chest, unraveling the tight knot that'd seemed to take up shelter there, and it made her heart feel like it could beat again with ease.

"We're proud o' you, Beth Ann. An' one day, you're gonna look back on all o' this, an' it's just gonna be one o' those things – one o' those things that ya won't be able to manage lookin' at without knowin' that ya wouldn't be who ya are – who you're gonna be – if it hadn't happened. It hurts, makes ya feel like ya don't know yourself, like ya never did. But it's gonna help ya _really_ know yourself, one day. It'll all come together, no matter what path ya choose – what path the good lord chooses for ya – an' it'll make more sense'n anythin' else ever did. More sense'n ya ever thought it could." Hershel wobbled over to where Beth sat and pressed his lips gently against her temple. "Get some rest."

"I love you," she whispered, directing her words to both of her parents.

She went upstairs and got ready for bed, and as soon as Zach had texted her ( _Home. No burglars that I can see. But don't expect that last piece of cake to be left in the fridge when you get back. Please apologize to your family for me – I wish I would have said goodbye. Hope you get some rest tonight – I've had a lot of time to think about things. We'll talk soon. I love you, Beth. Goodnight._ ), she closed her eyes and drifted off into a remarkably peaceful kind of sleep.

She didn't dream of anyone or anything that night. Except herself. Except for Beth Greene – who she was, who she'd been, who she wanted to be. Her face – and the very structure of it – that she saw as she dreamt was almost mosaic and abstract in the way that all the different parts and emotions and animals and colors were somehow built _into_ it, but also _because_ of it. And they were dynamic, the pieces of her. Never static.

And from afar, it still looked like her – still looked like the person she'd always known to be herself, all pale skin and blue eyes and round face. And it would take time to sift through the pieces that comprised her, to rearrange them into something just as coherent up close as it was from far away. The pieces she'd rejected, the ones that were new, the ones that she couldn't even recognize yet. But she would. She could.


	8. never felt alone (until i met you)

_**A/N:** **sorry for the delay (i blame work, per usual). and: hey, bitchy guests - f*** off. thanks. appreciate it! :)**_

 _ **summary: we're heading to a happy place.**_ _ **beth returns to new york - and maybe somewhere along the way, she realizes she's grown - that she's not weak, that maybe all of the pain hadn't been for nothing. how one weekend - one moment - of pure honesty, of truth, can throw you off and fuck you up and split you into two but somehow mold you into a person you always wanted to be.  
**_

 _ **probably 1-2 more chapters to go, peeps.**_

 _ **as always, thanks for reading & reviewing (except for you, bitchy guests...take a midol for fucks' sake). **_

_**Edited to add that: guest reviewers are MORE than welcome. However, my "eff off" comment is specifically directed to those who have NOTHING constructive to say (i.e. "i'm sick of the angst" "your authors note is whiny", "i'm so pissed because xyz." etc.). The warnings on this story are clear. If this isn't for you, just move along. If you want to stick it out, then trust me to tell my own story - promise it will be everything I've always said it would be. Thanks.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 8: never felt alone (until i met you)**

On Wednesday, Zach sent a text to Beth telling her that he'd moved all of his things (for the most part) out of their apartment and would be staying with Rosita, Beth's friend from graduate school who'd actually set the two of them up, until his tenant's sublease expired and he could move back into his old place.

She was surprised how quickly he'd gotten it all figured out. How the messages he'd sent her seemed, and maybe felt, so very formal and almost detached. She hadn't been surprised that he didn't elaborate on anything else – anything he may've been feeling or otherwise – and that was okay, because she didn't want to push him. She'd be willing to talk more when he was ready. But, as far as she could tell, he was handling things much better than she'd expected; however, he'd never seemed the type, at least not to Beth (over the year-and-a-half or so she'd known him), to show any explicit or strong emotion even – or _especially_ , maybe – when it came to personal matters.

Beth filled the few extra days she'd spent at home with a mixture of rest and relaxation, family dinners, helping her momma and daddy out around the house and farm, spending some quality time with Nelly, Maggie, Glenn, Shawn, and she was even able to visit briefly with a small group of friends she'd known from high school who still lived in the area.

She'd seen Daryl once – on Monday when he'd come to the farm to discuss the weekly agenda with Hershel – and it wasn't terrible. He hadn't appeared to be overtly upset or angry or pained. He'd told Beth – quietly and during the very brief time Hershel'd left them alone – that he'd drive her to the airport (if she wanted him to) when she knew when she'd been leaving. And she'd seen the slightest touch of reluctant pleading in his eyes when she'd thanked him for the offer and told him that Maggie'd already been planning on dropping her off.

She kept busy during the days, but the nights were far more difficult for Beth. She wrote a lot in her old journal, thinking and hoping it'd help clear her mind. And it had – to an extent. But then she'd read over everything she'd written and the words seemed to blur at their edges and rearrange themselves into nonsensical patterns and decisions and unfinished thoughts.

Directionless. That's how she felt. Like a tumbleweed, maybe; blowing and rolling in whatever direction the wind chose for her. Adapting to one environment just to be blown into another one – changing her shape and structure just to wish she hadn't when the next gust came along.

And though that thought was unsettling – maybe disappointing in some ways – it incited more frustration within her than anything. Because she _wasn't_ a damn tumbleweed. She was gifted with thought and a conscience (despite its questionable integrity of late) and the ability to _choose_. And life would always have a fingertip pressed into her back, and it might use it to guide her or shove her or poke her now and then – it might even extend an entire hand and use its force to knock her flat on her ass – and that was just a part of existing, a part of being human. One that she was now accepting, or trying to. One that was so obvious - and, at its very core, so simple - that she couldn't quite comprehend _why_ it'd taken her this long – why she'd had to go through so much, fuck up so many things, endure and inflict pain whether she'd wanted to or not – to understand it. To make peace with it.

But, like her momma'd always said: _"Ain't no use cryin' over spilt milk, Beth Ann. Just go on an' get ya a rag – ya know where they are – an' clean it up, now. We can still use what's left; ain't all ruined just 'cause ya spilt a li'l bit, honey. An' there'll always be more to be had."_

Xxx

Annette had been able to book a last-minute flight that departed late Wednesday night for Beth, for which she was thankful since it meant she'd only really missed two days of work; luckily, her boss had been understanding about everything – at least the glossed details that Beth had given her.

Maggie wasn't thrilled about the late-night airport trip, but Glenn was working late at the popular pizza place he managed and neither Hershel nor Annette drove at night anymore. And Beth would've rather walked than ask Shawn for a ride.

She'd bid farewell to her parents, to Shawn (through his door, which had been vibrating with the volume of the "music" he'd been blasting), to Nelly. Told them she'd see them soon – and it really _would_ be soon, because, as she and Maggie stepped outside, she could feel the lightest bit of crisp in the breeze. Winter wasn't so far away.

"Daryl." Maggie'd noticed him before Beth had. He was standing outside of the old Buick, which he'd parked behind Maggie's car in the driveway, with his arms crossed. Leaned up against the passenger side door.

"We gotta go, Daryl," Beth said quietly. "My flight's in a couple of hours."

He was silent for a few moments and then nodded slowly as he addressed Maggie.

"Can take her. If ya want."

Maggie shifted her eyes to Beth's from across the hood of her car, which they'd been preparing to start loading up with Beth's luggage.

"Up to you," she said.

It wasn't that Beth didn't want to ride to the airport with Daryl. It was more like the nagging feeling, which she'd never really nor fully explored, that she'd spent most of her life choosing _him_. And it felt, now, like maybe she hadn't even had any _choice_ \- not back then. It was just how things _were_ , how they'd always been - because they'd been together then.

But they weren't. Not now.

Didn't mean she didn't want to be. Eventually. Maybe.

But she was finished being a confused, weak little girl. So she made a choice.

"Tell me, honestly, Mags, how tired are ya? Be easier for ya if he took me instead?" If yes, she'd ride with Daryl. If no, she'd stick to her original plan of riding with her sister. It didn't have to be blown out of proportion. Didn't have to be some life-or-death, make-or-break decision, like she were choosing whether or not to discontinue life support for her beloved.

Maggie sighed. "I'm exhausted. But I'll still take ya, if ya want."

Beth stepped a few paces toward Daryl's car and dropped her bags on the driveway before walking back and over to her sister.

"He can take me," she said, looking up at her sister. "Ya need to get some rest. I'll see ya in a couple'a months, okay?" She pushed forward and wrapped her arms around Maggie's slender body.

"I love you, Beth. At least text me when ya get to the airport. An' when ya land. An' when ya make it back to your apartment." She giggled and kissed Beth on the head.

"An' _you_ ," she snapped, looking over Beth's head at Daryl. "Don't make her be late for her flight, Dixon. An' get her there safe, 'r else I'll tell Shawn where ya keep that extra set of keys to your bike."

Xxx

Beth and Daryl were quiet for the majority of the drive. She'd thanked him awkwardly. Several times. And he'd grunted in response, not quite meeting her eyes.

She wondered what he was thinking just as much as she _knew_ she probably didn't actually want to know. And the way he was white-knuckling the steering wheel with one hand and biting on the thumb of his other was making her anxious. Or maybe it was this entire scenario. Maybe because of the unwelcome memories of the last time – how she'd felt so angry and confused and hopeless even as her entire family'd surrounded her as they took her to the airport to see her off – she'd done this, the last time she'd left home - left Georgia - to travel to New York. All that she'd left behind.

And they weren't far from the airport when the silence inevitably became too much for her to bear.

She was still silent, however, when she reached forward to turn the radio on. And she knew before it even started playing that the music would be a little fuzzy, that subtle static and white noise would surround the music and lyrics. It'd always been that way, maybe because of the age of the car or a defunct antenna or something. Didn't have any CD player, no _iPod_ hookup. Cassette player didn't even work properly, if she remembered right.

She spun the dial, in search of something – _anything_ – other than talk-radio or sports or politics or news or this heavy silence.

And she shouldn't have been surprised – not really, not if she'd considered with any sort of care or caution the events of the preceding days – that the first song that came in even remotely clearly was _that_ song. The one they'd danced to, not too long ago. The one that'd been playing when they'd finally consummated their relationship, when they'd finally given in to the fire - which had been relentless in its burning and licking and blazing - that'd engulfed them and their feelings, their wants, their love, so very long ago.

And she'd hesitated too long to pretend she hadn't heard it. To keep scrolling, as if she'd only caught an unrecognizable note or two. Because she saw him stiffen in her peripheral vision.

They didn't speak or look at one another. But, as if they were both still abiding by some ancient and unwritten rule, neither of them changed the station. Not until it was over and the DJ began talking about how timeless and tragic it was and would _always_ be.

Xxx

Daryl helped Beth gather her luggage from the trunk of his car when they arrived. He'd offered to come in, hang out with her until she was ready to walk through the security checkpoint.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Thanks, though," she'd answered. And he'd nodded and averted his eyes to the littered ground that was illuminated by the fluorescent lights above the walkways.

"So, Christmas." He'd mumbled it as he kicked at the ground.

"Yep. Hopefully a li'l before. Maybe stay through the holidays. Been workin' for over a month so I got some vacation days that I can use. What're you gonna be up to ya think?"

He shrugged. "Then or 'til then? Keep busy, got s'more construction jobs comin' up here soon. Merle's helpin', so I'll pro'ly wanna get it finished soon as possible. Wanna get 'em done 'fore Christmas at least. Then I'll be 'round when ya come back."

"They far away or somethin'?" She asked, still balancing one suitcase against her hip as Daryl held onto another.

"Nah." He shook his head a little and a thick bundle of hair fell down and into his face. "Not too far."

She nodded and wasn't sure what else to say. She didn't want to repeat any apologies. Didn't want to taint this lighter – thought not entirely _relaxed_ – kind of companionship they'd somehow developed.

"Think it'd be a'right if I – ya know, dependin' on how busy y'are an' all – but I could call ya. Some time. Or text." His eyes bobbed and weaved – ping-ponged, almost, from her face to the ground to his hands – as he spoke. As he asked her – or offered to – if he could contact her. And she almost laughed, because _Jesus_ , she'd just had sex with him days ago. And it hadn't been _just sex_ and not quite _making love_ , but some kind of messy in-between. Each of them had just, over the course of the previous five days, admitted that they were in love – still, always – with the other. And she wasn't quite sure what that meant – what _any_ of it meant, not yet – but she'd be lying if she ever claimed that hearing from him wouldn't elicit some kind of fluttery reaction inside of her chest and her stomach and her heart – and maybe she wouldn't call them _butterflies_ (though they'd once been, and probably – maybe – would be again), but even if they were just the soft beating of the wings of a few moths, silky and powdery and somehow nocturnal, they'd be there. And she'd anticipate them filling her.

"Never needed to ask my permission," she said quietly. And she reached out to take her suitcase from his hand.

Without much thought – and because this was an _actual_ goodbye, at least for a few months – she dropped her bags momentarily to wrap her arms around his neck. And he wrapped his around her middle, and she could feel his fingers lightly squeezing the skin above and slightly behind her hips.

"Talk soon," she whispered, placing a light peck on his cheek. Because she'd _wanted_ to. She'd _chosen_ to. Consciously. Driven by her own mind, cool and calm and decidedly _not_ being assaulted by a chaotic rainbow of emotions.

"I love you, Beth. Be waitin'," he whispered into her hair.

She felt him standing there - felt his eyes on the back of her - until long after she'd walked through the automatic doors and into the airport.

Xxx

The transition from the weekend that would forever change the course of her life back to her actual life wasn't as difficult as Beth had imagined.

The small group of her _sort-of-friends-but-really-mostly-coworkers_ had been shocked to learn about the end of her and Zach's relationship and engagement. They'd been mildly supportive but almost instantly – almost suspiciously – eager to set her up with _that hot guy in HR who'd totally had his eyes on her since she'd started here_ , but she'd politely declined.

And it wasn't that she thought that she and Daryl were (or would be) getting back together. But she realized, even as the days passed by and autumn arrived like a vicious hailstorm, that the feelings that'd resurfaced during that weekend at home weren't mere post-hoc fallacies. They didn't distract her from living, though. She didn't go home from work and watch crappy movies about ill-fated lovers or cry over bowls of chocolate ice cream. Didn't pretend or wish that she were nothing more than a shadow on the wall of her bedroom, not even when she couldn't sleep.

She didn't isolate herself, though she'd never been the type to be hyperactive socially – at least not since she'd moved. She went out with her friends – coworkers or the few from graduate school with whom she'd kept in touch – occasionally, to high-energy bars filled wall-to-wall with people. Young and old, friendly and rude, friends and lovers. And it was okay. It filled the time. The space.

When Daryl sent her messages or called her, she responded. Answered. Talked. It wasn't awkward. It was almost _good_. It was almost like how she'd always prayed it could've been, before. He'd gotten busy with his construction job as fall crept along, changing the colors of the world and stripping the trees of their foliage but only really changing her in the way she dressed. The price of her electricity bill. Not _her_.

xxx

It was mid-October when Zach called her – she hadn't heard from him since the weekend in Georgia, though she'd checked in on him relatively regularly through Rosita.

"Any plans today?" His voice was cheery. It was Saturday. Chilly but sunny. And no, she had no plans.

So they'd met for coffee in the middle of the afternoon at a place they'd both always loved, right around the corner from Beth's apartment building. A quaint, small shop that almost seemed out of place among the quiet and relative unfriendliness of the area surrounding it.

"So how've you been?" She asked, sipping on her favorite type of espresso drink. They sat by the window, where the rays of the deceitful sun almost seemed to penetrate the glass and shield them from the brisk drafts of cruel air that engulfed the entire shop each time the door opened or closed.

"Good," he said, smiling. And he'd ordered his favorite, some kind of chocolate frozen coffee drink. She'd laughed when he'd joked, _"I just wouldn't feel right not ordering it, despite the weather."_

" _Really_ good, actually," he continued. He was wearing a suit, though he'd covered it with a long, black pea-style coat and a scarf.

"Oh yeah? Well, fill me in already!" She leaned forward, genuinely interested in the cause for his sunny demeanor.

"Well, first, I got that promotion I've been hoping for months," he said, smiling growing. And she smiled in return.

"Management?" She asked. He'd worked so hard since the previous spring toward a managerial position in his department in the trading world.

He nodded, still smiling. Like nothing could wipe it off of his face. And it was infectious.

"Our part of the company will be branching out. It's growing rapidly. We're expanding, beyond the city. I'll be moving to Newark next month," Zach said, and she could hear the excitement nudging at the edges of his otherwise-even voice.

"Wow, Zach, that's great. Congratulations. Really, you deserve it. Ya've worked so hard." She put a hand over his. "Gonna be two bays away from Manhattan. Think you'll fit in?" She teased.

"I went out to visit a few weeks ago. Rosita came along with me – seems her job may be sending her westward, too. And we've been having a ball as roommates, so we're thinking of looking into getting another place together there." He had a certain – Beth wasn't sure, maybe a glimmer or something, just slightly – look in his eyes when he told her this part. And Rosita hadn't mentioned that to her the several times Beth had spoken to her, but she couldn't blame her. It couldn't have been an exactly _comfortable_ thing – to be friends and maintain a relationship with Beth and Zach when she'd known and been friends with him far longer.

"That's perfect," Beth said, patting his hand. "I'm really, really happy for ya, Zach."

"Thanks, Beth. Means a lot. You were so much a part of all of that – your support – I mean, it was really an important part of this. And how are you doing? Everything at the apartment okay?"

She leaned back in the booth. "Yeah. I mean, it's all the same ol'. Bland and beige on the inside but shady as hell on the outside." She laughed. She hadn't chosen the apartment for the location; it'd been within her budget and wasn't far from where she worked. And it'd been difficult, at the time, to have any semblance of desire to want to look at other options. To look at _any_ options. But it's where she slept. Where she spent far less of her day in comparison to the time spent at work. She knew it wasn't anything permanent, but she'd tried to make the best of it.

"Talked to Daryl much? Your family?" Zach's voice lowered slightly.

She shrugged. "My momma calls me much as she always has – frettin' over silly shit, like if I need money for shoppin' or clothes or food. Oh, _oh my god_ – so exciting – Maggie just found out she's pregnant! Like literally just found out, actually; called me right before we met up here. I 'bout choked, I was screamin' so loud." Because _finally_. Her sister was meant – she'd been put on this earth – to become a mother. As much as Beth was meant to be an aunt and Shawn the cool-but-morally-questionable uncle, Glenn a father and her parents grandparents.

"Wow! That's awesome news, Beth! Please extend my best wishes to them. That baby will be an amazing person – Maggie'll be a great mother and Glenn will be an adoring, doting father and your parents – oh, lord – I bet they're just so excited."

"Yeah, I can't believe I didn't think to spill that soon as we got here. So happy I'll get to be home, at least for a little bit, 'round Christmas. Maybe even longer." Beth smiled and swirled the espresso around in her cup.

"Thinking about moving back?" Zach asked.

Beth lifted her eyes at his unexpected question. And it wasn't unexpected because she hadn't been considering it – she _had_ , anyway, even before learning that she'd soon be an aunt. It was just that _he'd_ been the one to ask it. The only one to ask it.

And she didn't feel any need to lie. So she nodded.

"I am," she said, smiling. "I've been lookin' at potential jobs near Atlanta. Applied to a couple online. It'd be nice to be there for 'em when the baby comes."

"It'd be nice for you, too. It's okay to go after the things _you_ want, Beth. To make changes because _you want to_. You know?"

She nodded, because she _did_ know. She didn't know if she'd be able to find anything by Christmas or even in the next six months, but she'd planned on continuing to look. She didn't want to make a big deal out of it, especially in light of Maggie's much more exciting news. If it happened, it happened. If it didn't, she'd just keep trying.

Xxx

"So," Beth said sleepily into the phone, suppressing a yawn. It was late. A Sunday night in early December.

Thanksgiving had come and gone. She'd spent it at the home of one of her coworkers, gotten a little tipsy. Nothing special, but it was nice to not spend it alone. And, after she'd cabbed it home, she'd _skyped_ with her family. Listened while her father said his infamous Thanksgiving prayer at the head of the table. Giggled when Maggie'd panned the lens of the camera on her phone over to the Dixon brothers, who sat next to each other and held hands in prayer – mirror images of disgust on each one's face. She just sat and watched and let herself soak it in – soak _in_ it. Until they'd started arguing loudly – well, Glenn and Shawn and Merle started arguing loudly – and she'd hung up, laughing. Wishing she'd been there.

"Think you'll be able to pick me up from Atlanta in a few weeks?"

Two weeks. Actually, 13 days.

"Gotta see if I can fit that in," Daryl muttered.

"Well, let me know. If ya can't, just send Merle - ugh, I guess - yeah, gotta be him. Ain't lettin' Maggie come, she's been sick. And ain't gonna have Glenn feel like he's gotta leave her side."

Daryl huffed and it reached her ear and expanded, like a puff of warm air that she could actually _feel_.

"Yeah, don't think I'm too keen on givin' him that much responsibility. Be a shame if ya both lost your lives all 'cause he's a dumb bastard that don't know how to slow the fuck down."

Beth laughed. "Thanks. I 'preciate the sentiment."

"Ya know I'll be there. Know how long ya getta stay yet?" She heard a rustling through the speaker on her phone, like he'd flopped over in his bed and the comforter had brushed up against his phone.

"Uh-" she started, feeling the sudden need to flip herself over and onto her back. She stared at the ceiling. "Not exactly. I'll know soon, though."

"'Kay," he muttered, and she could hear a thread of disappointment there in his voice. "If it ain't – ain't long. Was thinkin' maybe I could come up there, never actually saw the inside o' your place. Could come for New Years, maybe. Somethin'."

She smiled. "That'd be real nice, Daryl. I'd like that. I'm gonna go to sleep. See ya soon."

"'Night, Beth. Love you." He didn't always say it, when they hung up. And she didn't either. They didn't talk every night. Didn't exchange texts every day. Nothing was clockwork between them. But if she thought about it, nothing between them ever really had been. But it – _they_ – had become more consistent, more constant and present in each others' lives, as the weeks passed.

"'Night," she echoed.

Xxx

"I can't believe you're actually doing it." Rosita had been nice enough to come and help Beth clean out the rest of her apartment. Her move-out date was exactly two days from now. Same day that she'd be leaving New York and moving home.

"Me neither," Beth sighed, trying to separate her shit into piles – absolutely need to keep, could do without, garbage, and too big to keep even if I actually wanted to were the current ones she'd organized.

"But I can tell it's something you really _want_. For you," Rosita said, kneeling down beside where Beth was sitting on the floor. And the garbage pile was growing larger by the second.

"It is," Beth said, lifting her eyes to Rosita's face. And she was almost-glowing, this girl – and she'd always been beautiful. _Mamacita Rosita_ , she'd nicknamed herself in grad school. Dark skin, dark eyes, and an even darker, thick mane of hair.

"Thank you for helpin' me," Beth continued, resting her head lightly on her friend's shoulder. "I'm so disorganized that it's almost tragic. And I know it ain't as close a drive as it used to be."

Rosita shrugged. "It ain't no thing, girl. You helped me before Zach and I moved."

"True. How're things with ya'll? How's Jersey?" Beth asked, curling her knees into her body a little, using this as a brief break from all of the packing – she really hated it. Always had. She kind of wished she hadn't brought so many things from home that she couldn't live without. Wished she could just leave with the clothes she was wearing and whatever might've been in her purse or her pockets.

"It's really great. Really. My firm is amazing – so much better than that shit-hole I wasted six months at here. And Zach's really, really – he's really – he's great. It's all great, Beth."

"Yeah, okay. Ya just said _really_ and _great_ 'bout ten times in one breath, Rose. Somethin' wrong?"

"No!" Rosita answered. Very quickly. And then the dots started to connect inside of Beth's head.

"Oh, shit," Beth breathed. "You guys're – you're _together_ , aren't you?"

A deep crimson crept its way up Rosita's neck and onto the round curves of her face.

"I didn't want to – didn't know if you'd be upset – I mean, it's still – still kind of soon. And it wasn't like I'd been harboring all these feelings or something shady like that, Beth – I swear. It just – it kind of just snuck up on me. On us both. And it's - it's nothing serious."

Rosita's words were quick and jumbled and worried and it made Beth smile.

"Don't be silly. Why would I be mad? More I think 'bout it, more I think it was all some – I'unno – jumpin' of the gun, me and him. Like we were casual and it was nice and, yes, of course, we loved each other, but – I'unno. Everything just kind'a happened so fast. I asked him to move in, and then before I knew it we were engaged and – I'unno. Bein' with him now, I can see it was almost like we'd – we felt like we had to, or somethin'. Hard to explain. Just a feelin'. And ya'll have this long history and you've been friends forever, and it just makes sense."

And Beth was being honest. When she'd mapped it out in her mind – the way things had happened – it actually all really _had_ happened so very quickly. Quicker than she could think about, than she could fathom at the moment. And maybe that'd been part of the problem, but it had also served as some kind of indirect catalyst that forced her to finally face her past and accept her present and choose her future.

"That's – wow, Beth, really? God, thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me. And it's funny – he kind of said the same thing. He loved you – still does, I'm sure, maybe always will – but he kind of explained it to me like getting married had just been the next rung on his ladder. Or something. Which is _so_ romantic – and I let his ass know I sure as hell ain't no _rung_."

They laughed. And Beth was happy – genuinely happy for them. Because they were actually perfect for each other. Her sass and realism would balance out his formality and somewhat-narrowed worldview. And it made all of the sense in the world. And maybe it was how it was always supposed to be. How it was supposed to end up.

Xxx

Beth's last day at work had been mostly uneventful. She wouldn't be starting her new job in Atlanta until after the New Year. She'd packed her things from her cubicle quietly and exchanged _goodbyes and thanks and best wishes_ with her coworkers and management team.

She'd spent the last night in her small, beige apartment quietly. She'd only texted Daryl to repeat the information for her flight. There wasn't much left inside the place. Not that she'd had a lot to begin with – but she was leaving behind some furniture and decorative items that she'd purchased at resale shops for whoever would live here next. And she almost wanted to leave them a note. A note that told them - begged them to treat this place with care – because, yeah, it was boring and beige and in a sketchy part of town, but it was the place where she'd grown up – not from _child to woman_ but from a wrecked and lost woman that'd nearly drowned in her own tears to a woman who was strong and knew what she wanted and would make choices, bad or good, and own them.

Xxx

Overall, she didn't have nearly as much luggage as she'd initially anticipated she might. She'd organized her suitcases and luggage much like she'd organized all of her belongings. And that resulted in a barely-passable carry-on, a messenger bag that was a combination of a purse and random _need-to-haves_ , and two large suitcases that she'd had to sit on top of to get secured and zipped.

She claimed her baggage and lugged it all to the exit, tried to peer through the fogged glass to see if his car was there. Since he, for some reason, hadn't texted her back when she'd told him she'd landed.

And then she saw _him_. First exiting the driver side of the Buick and then sauntering around the car, heading toward the double doors inside of which she stood.

 _Really_? Was this some form of sick payback despite the genuinely _good_ place at which they'd finally arrived?

The doors slid open automatically, and the wind bit at her face. Though she had to admit, it was certainly more pleasant than the wet sting that seemed to permanently take up resident within the air in New York from which she'd come.

"Why are _you_ here?" She asked sharply. She was kind of looking forward to Daryl being the first person she saw when she got home. _Not_ Merle.

"Well, hello t' you, too, missy. Ain't no way to greet your big ol' brother after so long. An' right 'fore Christmas too. _Tsk tsk_ , ol' bastard _Santi Claus_ ain't gon' be too happy with ya. Where the hell's your holiday spirit? Might need a spankin', ya don't be nice." He smiled and forced his arms around her, smooshing the bags she was holding into her body uncomfortably.

"It just vanished. Right when I saw you. Where the hell's Daryl?" She asked, words sharp with irritation.

"Oh, calm down, Beth Ann. He had t' finish a job. Last minute, really. He couldn't help it none. Said he tried callin' ya t' let ya know."

Beth glanced down at her phone, noticing that she did in fact have a missed call from Daryl. And about ten text messages from Maggie.

She sighed. "Just, please. Don't kill us. Two days 'fore Christmas, think of how upset everyone'd be. Just drive normally – ya know, like when the light's red, ya gotta actually _stop_ and all that."

"I aim t' please, ma'am. On my best behavior. Li'l bro said he'd take a knife to my 'nads if I did anythin' otherwise."

And at least he'd kept his word on that. Because she actually wasn't gripping the _oh-shit!_ bar or holding her breath in anticipation of a fiery death by car crash – at least not for the entire duration of the ride.

When they were about ten minutes away from the farm, Merle turned down a random road with which Beth wasn't familiar. When he most definitely shouldn't have. There was no short-cut this way, none she'd been aware of, at least.

" _Jesus_ , can ya not? Can ya not fuck 'round tonight, Merle? I'm fuckin' tired. Wanna see my sister and family. Ain't got time for any bullshit - "

"Aw, hell, thought maybe ya'd wanna come down here, see where all the kid's been goin' nowadays to do their neckin'. Could even test out the neckin' part, if ya wanted." He winked, but the sun was slowly descending in the sky around them. And Beth actually did want to see her family. So badly. She wanted to see Daryl. She wanted to tell them that she was here to stay. That they wouldn't have to _skype_ every holiday and birthday and she wouldn't have to whine and try to get them to come visit her in New York.

"Just wanna show ya somethin'. Won't take long. Take ya straight home after." Merle's voice was more serious. And despite her desperation to get home, she was intrigued.

They approached the end of the barren road – barely a road, seemed new; Beth couldn't remember ever noticing it before – and Beth gasped out loud.

Because, there, in a small clearing that was cornered in on two sides by forest and one side by farmland, was a house. With a yard – or what _would be_ a yard – that stretched out behind it for what seemed like forever.

And there was _that_ house. Modest but beautiful. Lit up. Designed like a contemporary log cabin with a chimney and green shutters. It sat a fair distance back and away from the dead-end of the road. Long driveway, green mailbox at the end of it. Two car garage, deep green door. Wrap-around porch that she _knew_ , because she'd dreamed it. She'd sketched it and given it to him. Once. A long time ago.

"Oh my _god_ ," she choked out in a stilted whisper with what little breath remained in the tissues of her lungs. "Oh my god, is it –"

Merle was silent beside her but he nodded subtly. And his face was solemn and quietly overwhelming.

"Is he – in there? Is he here?" She asked, hands balled into tight fists on the tops of her thighs.

"Dunno where else he'd be. Spends most o' his time here, fiddlin' with shit. Makin' it better. Makin' it _perfect_ , so he says." Merle said quietly.

"Can ya – can ya let me go and see him, just real quick 'fore ya take me home?" Because she had to see him. _Now_. Because this wasn't – _how and why and when_ had he done this? Not even knowing what'd become of them? Part of her wanted to go scream at him for being so stupid – for not even talking to her about it, all these nights they'd been talking and talking and talking.

"Well I didn't drive y'out here just t' stare at it, sweetness. Go on," Merle said. And he smiled with some kind of pride tinged with sadness or something like it as he shifted the car into park.

She jumped out – yeah, literally, she _leapt_ – out of the car, breathing heavily before she even started running the short but uphill distance between the car and the steps to the front porch. To _her_ porch – what she'd always wanted to be her porch.

She opened the door, because of course it was unlocked. He'd planned this. Or maybe he hadn't; maybe he'd been embarrassed – probably more likely. Maybe wouldn't have even said a word about it if he'd been the one to pick her up from the airport.

And it was shiny and all treated, petrified wood. The light seemed to bounce off of every surface. It smelled the way all new houses smelled – like drywall and wood shavings and gorilla glue.

A curved stairway – because she'd always wanted a curved stairway – divided what she _knew_ , despite the absolute lack of any furniture, to be the dining room and the family room. And she knew that if she walked up the stairs, she'd find a large bedroom with an attached bathroom – big and beautiful, with a his-and-hers vanity and a shower stall in one corner and a round, spacious bathtub in another – and two smaller bedrooms. And one other bathroom. And a bay window with a cushioned bench at its base overlooking the back yard, the woods, the world.

She walked through the dining room and into the kitchen, and she found him there. Crouched down with his weight on his heels, majority of him hidden by the open cabinet door – dark and wooden – under the sink, and he was swearing quietly under his breath as he held a screwdriver in one hand.

" _'I don't care how crazy it is, it's yours.'_ " She whispered, just loud enough that he'd hear her without being completely startled. Hopefully. And she'd quoted him. Something he'd said years ago, maybe before she was even twenty years-old, when she'd told him that he was talented with his hands (in several ways, and she'd laughed, loud and innocent and happy, when his face turned beet red), that he could build their dream house with them. And then he'd asked her what her dream house was.

And it was _this_. She was standing in it. With the only person she'd ever truly wanted to share it with, if she were being honest with herself. And she was.

She knew he heard her, because he dropped the screwdriver loudly onto the floor and swore again, a bit louder. And then he stood up. And he faced her, but he kept his eyes on the floor while he fidgeted with his hands.

"Daryl – what? What _is_ this? What's it for? Why'd you - "

"Been savin' for it for years. Kept 'em all, those drawings, shit ya wrote down to describe it. An' I finally found this land, not long 'fore ya came home that weekend. Couldn't let it go to waste, become just s'more farmin' land." He kept his eyes on the ground, though they were roaming and dancing and moving speedily across the space that expanded in front of him, to the side of him, in front of her feet.

"Even if ya don't want it, 's okay. I know I didn't ask ya or nothin', an' I'm sorry, but I _wanted_ to do it. Almost like I been - I'unno - livin' for it, or somethin'. So it - it'll be here, if ya ever – ya know, even if ya just come home to visit, it'll be here – ya know, ya won't have to stay with your parents if ya didn't wanna. Could come out here an' just be. Write or draw or lay in the sun. I won't stay in it or nothin'. It's for you."

"Daryl," she said, and her voice sounded firm but it was trembling like the rest of her. Had to be. Somewhere, maybe deep, under the strength of it. "Look at me."

And she saw him heave in a deep breath before he finally and slowly lifted his head. Almost reluctantly. Almost like he were ashamed. Scared.

She shook her head in bewilderment and felt her lower jaw separate from the top. She didn't know what it _meant_ – that a man she'd been in love with for a good decade had built her a fucking house when their relationship had been about as smooth and straightforward as a raging fucking sea in a storm.

But, still, it meant everything. It didn't mean their problems – their past problems, their present problems, the problems that may be waiting, lurking in their future – would vanish. But she was ready to _try_. And he had been – this whole time, though she hadn't known about it and it didn't serve as an excuse for everything he'd done and _hadn't_ done, not to her – and right now, did it really fucking matter? It didn't. Didn't matter if they couldn't get their shit together right now, right away.

She closed the short distance between them and flung her small body as forcefully as possible into the solidity of his. And she was _trying_ to tell him – but somehow she'd started crying, and she didn't know if they were happy or sad or overwhelmed tears, not exactly, and the words weren't clear. Couldn't be.

He grasped her head in his hands, righting her face and positioning it just in front of his.

"What're ya sayin'? Can't hear ya," he said, smirking a little. Not in any kind of arrogance or condescension. Just a smirk. Just for her, maybe.

"I'm movin' home," she said, voice wet and quiet and bordering on frenetic. "I packed all my shit and I'm movin' home. Now. I'm stayin'."

A look of confusion took up shelter – made its home, just for a moment – in the features of his face, sweat-soaked and half-obscured by his hair, as always.

But it was quickly replaced by some look for which she couldn't find a word. It was a mixture, a medley, really, of surprise and shock and relief and apology and happiness. And his eyes were wet, too, then; like she'd just granted him his dying wish, like she'd just forgiven him of all his sins and trespasses and debts.

And he tugged at her face with his hands, still cupped around the sides of her head, and he was breathing heavily, and maybe he was trying to say something, but it wasn't working and it wasn't necessary. Not right now. They had plenty to talk about, and they would. Soon. But not now.

So she took it upon herself. Stood on her toes and snaked an arm around his shoulder, almost cradling his neck, and pushed him forward, as he continued pulling at her, tugging, almost without any obvious direction, with one hand that she'd pressed against the back of his head.

She pressed her lips, hard and hungry and thankful and sorry, into his. And he lifted her up – different than last time – and sat her on the counter – on the counter he'd built for her. For them, maybe, but - really, she knew - he'd done it for her. He stood between her legs and gently pushed her backward and into the overhanging cabinet. His eyes were on hers and everywhere else, all at once, and he let his lips devour hers, and she could feel every single thing she'd ever wanted in them. In him. In herself. His hands – rough and calloused but gentle and there – rubbed slow but deliberate circles on the bare skin of her lower back as he let his lips slip from her mouth to her jaw to her neck, and he mouthed _I'm sorry, I love you, I love you_ – and she felt it, there on the skin of her neck. On the soft muscle that kept her heart beating.

And they weren't in the best place, but they were in _a_ place – _this_ place – together.


	9. the vacancy that sat in my heart

_**A/N: Sorry for the delay with this one. Got distracted for a day or two by another silly one-shot idea and, additionally, this chapter was hard for me to write. Not great at fluff, and by my standards, this is pretty fluffy in multiple ways. So if it's sucky, constructive comments are welcome and graciously accepted. And to clarify a previous remark I made: all guest reviews are welcome and of course everyone is entitled to his/her own opinion; however, please consider trying to keep comments (here and left or any author) helpful and constructive in nature when possible - if it's not for you, move along, and if you want to stick it out, trust me to tell my story. thanks as always to EVERYONE for reading & reviewing. **_

_**anxious as always to hear your thoughts. think i've got one more chapter +/- an epilogue of sorts left in me with this one.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 9: the vacancy that sat in my heart (is a space that now you hold)**

"I've gotta go home. Need to see Maggie," Beth breathed into Daryl's mouth when they'd come up for air between kisses.

He kept his face just inches away from hers. Kept his hands on her skin. They were both breathing loudly and deeply, both had red and swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes as they stared at each other silently for a few moments.

And she couldn't think of any word to describe the look on his half-hidden face. She reached her hand out and pushed away the stray strands of hair that partially covered his features. And he almost leaned into her hand, and she was reminded again of the stray dog he'd once likened to himself.

And then Beth pushed her body forward and into his again, just once more, and pressed her mouth to his. He brought a strong hand up from where it'd been resting against her lower back to the back of her head, tilting and slanting it so that he could slide his tongue more deeply into her mouth, and then he groaned, low and quiet, in the back of his throat.

"Gotta stop," she whispered. Trying to convince herself, maybe. Because Merle was still waiting outside, sitting in his car in the driveway of the house – _this_ house wrought from her dreams and Daryl's hands.

He slid his lips down and off of hers, nodding slightly in acknowledgement of her words as he did, but they only continued their path across her chin and outward to the angle of her jaw until they reached the spot just below the lobe of her ear. She squeezed his torso tightly between her thighs when she felt just the tip of his tongue contact her skin.

"Ain't nice to tease," she said breathily, even as she tilted her head further, just slightly, to grant him more access to her neck. Because it felt so good. So _right_. Like her body had known all along that this, in _this_ context and in _this_ way, is what it – and, maybe, what she – needed to feel whole again.

"Ain't the only one teasin'," he muttered, and his words were a rough, hot breath that fanned over her ear and downward, into her chest. Lower.

"Ugh, _god_ – Daryl, stop. Gotta go." Her voice was uneven as she threaded a hand into his hair and pulled – and she'd meant to pull him away, because she really did need to go, but instead she'd tugged it – suggestively, almost, and only because it was _him_ – and he dropped his face down and sunk his teeth into the flesh over the musculature of her upper trapezius that expanded from her shoulder to the side of her neck and he was almost vibrating, almost humming through his teeth, and she could feel it everywhere. And it was too much – all of this was, and it certainly hadn't sunken in yet, not by a long shot – and yet not nearly enough. So she pushed his head down harder and her hips mindlessly started rocking against the strong, solid wall of his body.

He snapped his head up quickly. So quickly that it'd startled Beth and she'd cracked the back of her head against the cabinetry behind her.

"Ow, _shit_ ," she hissed, gripping the back of her head with a hand.

"Sorry," he mumbled. And she could tell he was, but he was also still overcome with some emotion or want or something – sex or love or happiness or confusion, she didn't know, couldn't tell – and she thought the apology hadn't come out of his mouth as sincerely as he'd intended. And it was a heady thing.

But he lifted a hand, and it was shaking – very subtly – and rubbed the palm of it against the back of her head, where a nice-sized goose-egg was already forming. He lifted his eyes to hers, and it was almost as if he were asking for her permission to do this.

"Shit's pretty durable," she said, smiling a little.

"Yeah, well. Know how accident-prone y'are. Put extra smoke detectors up an' rails on both sides o' the stairs so I don't come to check on ya just to find ya with a twisted ankle or some shit." He circled his arms around her middle and lifted her off of the countertop and placed her gently onto her feet in front of him in one clumsy-yet-somehow-smooth motion.

He backed away from her a few steps and he scanned the rooms visible from where they stood – the large kitchen (complete with the island Beth had always wanted) opened up into the family room. A sliding glass door connected it to the back yard, and Beth walked over to peer outside, following his gaze. And she could see colorful markings on the hard, cold ground that was still mostly comprised of dirt – maybe he'd spray-painted them – and they looked to be in the outline of a deck or a back porch.

Though she hadn't gotten the official tour, she knew there was a basement with one open, large, finished room – the room where she'd once said he could _drink his beer and throw his damn darts and hang his creepy damn taxidermy_ – and an additional area for storage.

"Can't believe ya did this," she whispered. Her voice echoed in the emptiness of the house, and she was still staring blankly out into the vast yard that was lined by trees, far in the distance.

"Ain't done," he said quietly. "No plumbin' yet. No cable or nothin'. Just electricity an' gas. Thought I'd have it done by now, but I just – I'unno, just kept redoin' shit. Ain't got no furniture to give ya."

She shook her head, because he couldn't just accept a compliment and gratitude. Never had been able to.

"Don't matter how long it takes," she said. "I mean, so long's it ain't another _three years_ or somethin' like that."

He lifted his head and locked his eyes onto hers from across the expanse of the room, and she was sure he'd caught the multiple layers buried there in her words.

"Ain't gonna take long. Once I get the plumbin' fixed up, should be live-able. Don't know if – if ya wanted to paint or some shit. But if ya do, better to do it 'fore ya start movin' anythin' in here."

"Ya know, _you_ built this thing. Why'm I the one callin' all the shots here? Seems like maybe ya oughtta have a say."

"Ain't _for_ me. 'S for you, Beth. 'S all I got to give ya."

 _Lie_.

He could give her more. Already had. She didn't need a house – though she adored it – but the simple fact that he'd designed it from her half-formed dreams and sketches from so many years ago and built it and that every square inch of it _screamed_ her name meant more to her than the house itself did.

"Come over tomorrow, Daryl. To the farm," she said, turning to walk back through the house to the front door. "We can do Christmas with my family – if ya want, anyway, don't have to – and then maybe afterwards I can get the _grand tour_ of the place."

He smiled. It wasn't huge or wide and it didn't reveal his teeth – he rarely smiled like that – but it was genuine. That much she knew.

Xxx

"Thank you, Merle," Beth said quietly as he pulled the Buick into the driveway of her parents' home.

"'S nothin', sugar. Just doin' ya both a favor – too damn stubborn for your own good, the both of ya'll, know that?"

He shifted the car into park, but she didn't move right away.

"No, Merle. Really," she said, turning to him. "Thank you. You've been so – so _different_. Since I came back. Ya have."

"Tryin' to seduce me?" He winked and rubbed a fingertip along his stubbled jaw in feigned consideration.

"Thank you for – for tellin' me. When I was home last. Not so sure what my life might'a been if ya hadn't. Could'a been married by now – never knowin'. And thank you for takin' me tonight. To the house. Showin' me. Means a lot."

"Beth Ann, I don't tell too many folk that I love 'em an' actually _mean_ it. But baby bro an' you? Trade my own fuckin' arm – would cut the damn thing off – if it meant ya'll'd just _finally_ be happy. Boy's a fool – always has been. Shaped up, for a good while at least, when he met ya. When he met your family. Ain't like nothin' he could ever remember." He sighed, and it was deep but somehow light and full of some kind of understanding that she couldn't fully comprehend.

"An' I – oh, boy – I been a shitty person. I know. Hoppin' up on drugs an' boozin' an' gettin' in trouble with the law. But when ya left – when that boy done told the biggest _lie_ he'd ever told a soul - tellin' ya he wouldn't wait an' didn't want ya 'round no more, what a fuckin' sad _fool_ \- an' I saw him that way, it was just like watchin' our momma. Killin' herself all over 'gain. Promised I'd never let him _do_ nothin' like that or _see_ nothin' like that never 'gain." Merle smiled, but Beth knew him well enough to know that there was a certain degree of heavy sadness behind it.

"Well, just in case I don't say it enough," she said, voice low and filled with emotion because of this man – this crude, unabashedly flirtatious, crass, pain-in-the-ass man who loved his brother so much that it brought tears to her eyes.

"I love ya, big brother." She nodded as she said it, blinking back tears.

He leaned across the console and pressed his lips to her forehead, smoothed her hair away from her face.

"An' I love you. Now get on. _Scat_ on outta here. I'm on my way to the Hole."

Beth laughed. "Kind'a wish I was joinin' ya – but, hey, now that I ain't leavin', we'll have plenty of time for that." And she hadn't made a big deal of telling him – because this was the first time that she'd really mentioned it to him – and she knew he wouldn't make a big deal out of it, either. Not now.

"Best thing I heard all night, Greene." He tipped his head at her as she got out of the car.

"Come over tomorrow if ya want," she said, waving him off as she walked up the drive.

Xxx

Annette must've been cooking all day. Beth's senses were assaulted by a variety of smells as she entered her parents' home. And all of it _smelled_ good, naturally, but they also made her _feel_ a certain kind of good – and she marveled for a moment at the way smells could trigger memories and emotions and feelings.

She was flitting around the kitchen when Beth entered it from the foyer. Talking to herself, it sounded like. And it looked like she was cooking for an army of starving men, not a simple holiday meal for six to eight people.

"Momma?"

"Oh my _goodness_ , Bethany Ann! Ya startled your ol' momma," Annette said, clutching her chest for a moment (oven mitt and apron secured safely in place) before walking over to the kitchen entrance where Beth stood and wrapping her arms around her tightly.

"So good to see ya again, sweetie. Everythin' okay with the flight an' what-not?" She asked as she released Beth and turned and scurried back over by the stove, where water was beginning to boil over one of the multiple pots on the range.

"Yep, everythin' was fine."

"Bethie?" Maggie. Her voice sounded weak but happy. She was standing at the other end of the kitchen, where it opened up into the dining room. Her hair was a bit of a mess and she was wearing an oversized, long-sleeved flannel over a grey tank top and rubbing her hands over the tiny bulge that'd taken up residence in her lower belly.

"Maggie!"

Beth crossed the kitchen in a few long strides, dropping her bags as she did.

She wrapped herself into her sister's arms, sliding one hand down in between them to gently feel and rub her belly.

"Oh my _god_ , it didn't seem real 'til now," Beth said through tears. She was beyond excited to become an aunt. She was even more excited that she'd be around – permanently – and have the ability to be a much more significant part of her niece's or nephew's life than what may've been possible had she chosen to stay in New York.

"Ugh," Maggie whined, "'s been _real_ for me since this kid's been causin' my body to reject anythin' I try to put into it."

"Gonna be a picky eater," Annette said, glancing over her shoulder and shooting a smile at her daughters. "Had the same problem with you, Beth Ann. Sick as a dog the whole time."

"C'mon, let's go an' sit in the livin' room," Maggie said, pulling at Beth's hand.

The sisters settled on the couch in the quiet, empty living room.

"Where's daddy? Shawn?" Beth asked as Maggie snuggled close to her and rested her head on her shoulder.

She yawned. "I'unno. Think they're out doin' somethin' in the barn. Who knows? Been out there every damn night for weeks, momma says."

"Huh," Beth muttered. "Oh, I forgot to tell momma I told Daryl and Merle to come over tomorrow." Beth started to get up so she could let her mother know about the extra guests she'd invited, but Maggie wrapped an arm around her middle, holding her in place.

"They still come here every year, anyhow," Maggie said flatly, yawning again. "'Least Daryl does. 'Least since the last time you were home for Christmas. Merle shows up every now an' then, too. She don't care, Beth. Did ya not see how much food the woman's makin'?"

Beth smiled softly, running a hand through her sister's hair and settling herself deeper into the old, firm couch. And her chest tightened a little as she thought about Daryl – and even Merle – continuing the Christmas tradition with her family despite her own absence. Despite the disintegration of her and Daryl's relationship.

"I don't wanna steal your thunder with the baby an' all," Beth whispered quietly. "But I just wanted to tell ya that I ain't leavin', Maggie. Stayin' home."

Maggie jerked her head up, and her eyes were wide though slightly glazed with the exhaustion she must've been feeling.

"Are you _serious_?" She mouthed the words, glancing quickly over the back of the couch towards the kitchen, where their mother had started humming softly to herself. "Momma know?"

"Nah. Gonna wait 'til tomorrow, I think. Tell everybody all at once. So ya gotta keep your mouth shut. And no usin' _pregnancy brain_ as an excuse."

"I am so happy!" Maggie whispered excitedly. "Best Christmas gift _ever_! Momma an' daddy are gonna shit themselves!"

"Shh," Beth warned, smiling even as she placed a finger against her sister's lips. "Celebrate tomorrow."

Beth stood up, raising her voice to a normal volume as she spoke. "Gonna go see if momma needs any help."

"No, honey, I'm doin' just fine. Ya'll girls just stay put – don't neither one of ya belong in the kitchen." Annette said from the kitchen. "An' ya didn't get that from _me_."

"'Kay, momma. I told Daryl and Merle they could come over tomorrow, hope that's okay," Beth responded, still feeling like she needed to let her mother know that she'd invited them despite what her sister had told her.

"Great, hon. Figured they'd be comin'."

Beth returned to the couch, letting Maggie snuggle into her side.

And, really, she should've taken this time – alone with her thoughts, in her home (was it still _her_ home? Would it be?) with her pregnant sister, who was beginning to snore softly beside her – to think. About things. So many things. What she'd arrived home to. What he'd done. What they'd done. How she felt or didn't feel or maybe what or how she hoped to feel.

But, instead, she chose to allow her eyes to shut and her mind to drift, and sleep arrived quickly. Peacefully.

Xxx

When she woke up early the next morning, she was still on the couch. Sprawled out, face turned into the back of it. Someone'd covered her with a plush blue blanket. Maggie was gone. Probably upstairs in bed with Glenn. She could hear her parents talking quietly in the kitchen.

She yawned and rolled over to the edge of the couch to grab her phone, which she'd left on the floor the previous night.

She silently read the text messages she'd received from Daryl, asking her what time he should come over that day. She responded quickly and pushed herself into a sitting position, pulling the band out of her hair.

She walked out of the living room and greeted her father, who was sitting in his normal spot at the head of the dining room table, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.

"So glad ya made it home, doodlebug," Hershel said as he folded the newspaper and hugged his youngest daughter.

"Me too, daddy."

"Dixon boys comin' over tonight?" He asked the question with a voice that sounded almost too-obviously disinterested as his eyes returned to the newspaper he'd picked up.

Beth arched an eyebrow and pretended to busy herself with putting away the dishes her mother had washed.

"I'unno, daddy. Do they usually?" She turned her head towards him. Saw his eyes narrow for just a moment as he lifted them to hers.

He chuckled quietly.

"Well, hopin' they do. Daryl's not been 'round here much lately. Wonderin' if he's fixin' on quittin' permanently or if he's gonna help an old man out at all this winter."

"Now, Hershel, ya know that boy's been busy workin' on – " Beth turned her head sharply toward her mother's, and she'd stumbled over her words a bit. "Well, ya know he's had all o' that construction work here lately. Don't scare the boy off for good."

And Beth realized, then, that they knew. Or at least they had an inkling. An idea. Maybe not the entire story. Maybe not the entire depth of it. But something. Maybe not _all_ of them knew.

And she felt a faint stirring of irritation deep in her belly. It only lasted for a few moments, though, because she realized – slowly and then all at once – that it wasn't _their_ story to tell. Wasn't their information to give to her. Wasn't their choice to make.

Xxx

"Oh, my lord have mercy!" Annette squealed – yes, _squealed_ – as she opened the door and found the older Dixon brother just on the other side of it.

"I ain't seen ya in way too long, Merle!" She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed tightly. Pressed her red-stained lips to each of his cheeks.

"Well my lands, _hello there_ to the most gorgeous o' all the Greene women. Thank ya for the warm invite, as always, ma'am. Here, brought ya some peach pie." He handed her the clearly store-bought pie, which Annette placed on the counter while profusely thanking him.

Beth looked on from the dining room, where she was setting the table. Glenn, Maggie, and Shawn were in the living room – Shawn was playing some video game that had Glenn laughing and yelling obscenities every five minutes – and Hershel was in his parlor finishing up some end-of-the-year work.

She held her breath deep in her chest as Daryl stepped into her parents' home. She'd almost forgotten what he looked like in real clothes. Not that he was dressed fancily – he'd never been the suit-wearing type, nothing like Zach at all in that respect – but he was wearing jeans – clean ones – and a long-sleeved button-down shirt - that, of course, was black - underneath his leather coat. But it looked like he'd even trimmed his hair a little, maybe. His facial hair too, though it was still scruffy – and she'd always loved that.

His eyes met hers and she realized then that she'd been staring. She felt her face grow hot and snapped her eyes away and back down to the table in front of her.

"Daryl, honey!" Annette said by way of greeting the younger Dixon brother. "Ya look so handsome, dressed the way y'are. Come on in. Welcome, welcome!"

She almost laughed at her momma's cheeriness. Beth could think of literally _nothing_ that would upset her mother around the holidays. It used to annoy her, back when she'd been going through her angsty teenager phase of life, but now she saw how endearing it really was. How much family and gathering together meant to her. And she felt the sharp twinge in her chest when she thought of how long she'd deprived her momma of truly having her entire family all together in one place for the holidays.

Merle winked at Beth as he stepped loudly through the dining room and into the living room. She heard Maggie groan, " _ugh, goddamnit, Merle. Stop, will ya? Go sit by Shawn, asswipe_ ," and saw that the older Dixon brother had plopped down right beside her sister and he'd slung one arm around her shoulders and was trying to rub her belly with his other. She heard Merle's fit of hoarse laughter in response to her sister and his " _alright, Mae, calm down. Just tryin' to rub the belly for good luck an' health an' shit._ "

Beth tried to concentrate on the silverware and its placement, because that was _much_ more important than staring at Daryl from the corner of her eye as he removed his jacket slowly and hung it up in the coat closet just at the bottom of the stairs. Much more important than watching and feeling his eyes rake down her body as she bent over and made sure – with absolute, unnecessary certainty – that she'd placed the silverware in the correct order at every place setting. And she'd purposefully dressed up – just a little – tonight. Nothing fancy. She'd just felt like looking nice. Leggings. Red sweater-dress that ended mid-thigh with a scooped neckline. Her hair was down and she'd curled the blonde strands of it.

Her eyes were still cast downward as she fumbled around with the last fork – which she'd been doing for several minutes – when she heard him enter the dining room. He stopped across the table from her and she could see his fingers twitching by his sides.

"Look nice," he said quietly.

She lifted her head a bit, not quite sure why she felt the skin of her cheeks reddening. She'd just been making out with him the previous evening. They'd known each other for years, had been in a relationship for the majority of those years. He'd built her a house, for fuck's sake. And now she was blushing like she was still a schoolgirl with a crush.

"You too." It'd come out a little breathy, but she was satisfied that she'd been able to speak evenly. And despite the odd-but-addictive fluttering that'd erupted in her stomach and the crimson shade that she was sure embodied her face, she let her eyes slide over him – face and body and maybe deeper.

She saw his throat bob up and down as he swallowed.

"Just let me know when ya wanna go home. Or – I mean, to the house. So I can show ya everythin'. Got a li'l somethin' for ya. 'S at the house." He'd leaned in a little, half of his body was inclined across the table toward hers as he spoke softly.

Xxx

After they'd watched Shawn play a few rounds of a game that involved a team of four people trying to slaughter wave after wave of an increasing number of zombies, Annette had called them in for dinner.

Hershel'd said his prayer, thanking the lord that the entire family was present, for the food, for his wife, for his children, for his unborn grandchild, for the Dixon brothers.

The conversation had begun quickly and continued steadily throughout the meal. And it was peaceful and created a comforting warmth that spread throughout Beth's body. And the feeling was nearly unrecognizable. Because even when she'd been home last and had experienced this feeling to some extent, she'd been drowning in a pool of emotional turmoil and it had taken more away from all of this than she'd even realized.

She sat next to Daryl this time, with Maggie on her other side.

And halfway through the meal, he'd placed a large hand on her thigh. His fingers rubbed slow, lazy circles on the thin fabric covering her skin. But his hand was shaking, just a little. She felt it. And it caused a tremor to pass through her body like a wave.

She placed one of her hands over his, hoping for the opportunity to voice her news before everyone started moving around or preparing to take full-belly naps.

She cleared her throat before she spoke.

"I just have somethin' I wanna let ya'll know," she said, interlacing her fingers with Daryl's on top of her leg – and they were hidden under the table but somehow giving her the strength to force the confidence that she felt into her voice and, maybe more importantly, into her choice.

"I'm movin' back." She smiled as she watched the mouths of her family members open and gasp and curl into wide smiles that were so full of love that they'd nearly blinded her at first glance.

"Stayin' here. Already moved everythin' outta my apartment. Ain't goin' back. Found a job in Atlanta. Start after New Year's Day."

"Oh, Bethie! That's so wonderful!" Annette said, clapping her hands together.

"Babysitter!" Glenn cheered, though only briefly since Maggie'd shoved him with impressive force from beside Beth. "Just kiddin'. Glad you'll be 'round, Beth Ann. Our li'l gal or man's gonna need aunt Bethie."

"'S great, Beth!" Shawn said, and it'd surprised Beth at first that her brother had even piped up. "Where ya gon' be stayin'?"

The room was silent for several moments, and Beth thought about how to answer that particular question. Because she really wasn't sure, hadn't had a chance – or taken the opportunity – to think about the details. Hadn't talked to Daryl about it.

Deep in thought as she was, she'd seen Shawn's eyes slide from her face to Daryl's.

She wasn't sure if they all knew. But, instead of erupting into an angry outburst fueled by the unintentional art of blowing everything out of proportion, she decided to just answer the damn question.

"Well," she started, glancing briefly at Daryl, who squeezed her thigh so gently she wasn't sure he actually had, "I'm gonna be stayin' at my – well, at the house that he – that Daryl built for me. For us, I mean."

"What the _fuck_?" Maggie's eyes widened. And she did look genuinely surprised. As did Glenn. But they were the only ones.

She looked at her daddy, who was smiling ear to ear and reaching a hand over to pat Daryl on the shoulder.

"Wait – _what_? I mean, what the _fuck_? Built a house?" Maggie continued, voice growing louder as her sleepy eyes darted around the room.

"Language, dear," Annette said, shaking her head.

"Sorry, momma. But – Daryl? 'S why y'ain't been 'round the farm as much, I assume?"

He nodded.

"An' – what? Did ya'll know about this?" Maggie whipped her head around from Hershel to Annette to Shawn to Glenn (who was shaking his head emphatically – but he was the only one).

"Ut-oh," Merle chuckled, "ain't nobody told big sister, huh? Aw, ain't that a damn shame. 'S okay, Mae. Only reason e'erybody else knows is 'cause baby bro's dedicated most o' his life to bein' here day in an' day out. Couldn't just stop showin' up. Though I ain't gotta clue why the wannabe zombie killer over here knew." He jerked his head toward Shawn.

" _I know 'cause I've been spendin' the last two months buildin' furniture for the damn house," Shawn snapped. "'Cause I ain't done much else 'round here. An' I'm just – I'm real happy my family's gon' be whole again, an' it's even better 'cause it's gon' be 'fore Mags gives birth to li'l asskicker."_

 _Beth's jaw dropped then. And she wondered if the amazement she experienced day after day at the hands and hearts of her family would ever cease to exist or slow down to some cadence with which she could keep up._

"Ya _what_?" She asked, looking from Shawn to her daddy and back to Shawn. Because Maggie'd said the previous night that the two of them had been out in the barn working on _something_. That they'd been working on something nearly every night for several weeks.

"S'posed to be a Christmas gift. Well, a bunch o' Christmas gifts. But, yeah, Beth Ann. Got ya a kitchen table built – no chairs but figured ya could find some at the furniture store. Nightstands, dressers. All in that oak type o' wood that ya always loved so much. Got a coffee table made from a big ol' cut o' a tree, too."

"Oh my god, Shawn, that's – that's so thoughtful of ya. I don't even know what to say 'cept _thank you_. So much. I – _we_ 'preciate it." Beth scooted her chair out and away from the table and rounded the corner of it to give her big brother a hug. And he didn't even try to push her away – not even playfully – this time.

She went to her daddy, then, thanking him in soft and stilted whispers and a strong hug around his shoulders.

Xxx

They'd opened gifts – which were only given by Hershel and Annette (aside from the furniture), per tradition – after finishing the meal. And then Shawn took Beth and Daryl out to the barn to show them the furniture they'd built.

And the pieces were beautiful. They were dark and natural, like the forest and its trees, and would match the softer wooden tones built into the house beautifully. And she wondered if Shawn or her daddy had seen the house, though she couldn't quite form the words to ask that. Not now. It didn't matter.

Two dressers, two nightstands, an enormous kitchen table, and a coffee table.

Daryl was mostly silent, standing back and away from Shawn and Beth, shaking his head slightly. Like he couldn't quite believe it. Like he maybe thought he didn't deserve any of it or to be a part of any of it.

But Beth had gone to him, sensing the tension that surrounded him, and grabbed his hand. Pulled him over to look at the pieces.

"Like 'em?" She asked when Shawn had left the barn to return to the house.

"'Course. They'll look great in the house." He spoke quietly.

"What's wrong?" She turned away from the furniture, from Nelly who was looking on from her stall at the far end of the barn, and faced him.

"Nothin'," he said. "Just feel like 's all another dream. Like I'm gonna wake up an' you're gonna be gone an' none o' this is even real."

"I feel like that too, sometimes," she said. And she did. She'd felt like that for most of the day, from the moment she'd spotted him walking into her parents' home.

"But it _is_ real," she continued, and she could hear the conviction in her own words, in her own voice. "Promise. I was lyin' – when I said it – that we weren't real. Ya know that, right?" She lifted her arms up to his shoulders, lightly kneading the skin and muscle under his shirt.

"Knew it then," he answered, and he kept his eyes on hers.

"Well, know it _now_ , Daryl Dixon. I'm here. I'm stayin'. And I know we got a lotta shit to work through – but I - I wanna be with you. I wanna _try_ , Daryl. 'Cause I love you. Ain't never stopped. Ain't ever gonna. And I - I'm ready. Let's go home – can pick all of this up tomorrow."

"Don't know what that – what you sayin' that does to me, Beth. To my head." He tipped his head forward, rested his forehead against hers. Brought his arms up behind her and used them to pull her body closer to his.

"Sayin' what?" And he was breathing heavily, like before. Like she'd just rubbed herself up against him or mauled him with her mouth or cleansed the air around him and made it simultaneously easier and more difficult to breathe in and out.

" _That_ – you know. That you love me. That y'always have an' will. Makes me wanna – I'unno – fuckin' _die_ , 'cause ain't nothin' gonna get no better'n this." His voice was rougher as the sound of it bled through his heavy breaths, and it trembled, too. Caused her core to spasm a little, deep in her belly.

"Take me home. Gonna keep on sayin' it. Gonna show ya that it _does_ get even better'n this. It can. _We_ can – we can be better than we ever have been, Daryl," she whispered.

She cupped his face in her hands and moved the lower half of it closer to hers so that she could seal her mouth over his. So that she could kiss him and tell him the very beginnings of a love story, one that'd begun right here in this very barn, with her tongue and her sighs.

And it wasn't perfect – the love story that she told. The only one she'd ever truly known. The one that she'd lived. That they'd both lived. It was raw – bloody and left scars – and complicated - by distance and time and other people and lies and self-doubt - and emotional and tied up with ribbons made of pain and heartache. But it was real.

And much later that night, when they'd gone home and sprawled themselves out on the floor of what would eventually become their bedroom on a pile of random blankets that Daryl had brought over and Beth had slowly unbuttoned his shirt – one button at a time, kissing and licking the small slivers of his skin that were revealed with each undone button – she continued the story. Their story.

"Want you." His voice was shaky even as he whispered the words hotly into her ear.

When she'd gotten his shirt completely unbuttoned, she moved to straddle him. Rubbed herself against the growing hardness she could feel underneath his jeans until he was writhing under her and grabbing her hips and forcing them downward, harder, into him.

"I can't wait," he said, and his voice was suddenly desperate and thick. He thrust his hips up and into her one last time before sitting up and grabbing at the hem of her dress with a sudden urgency.

"Can't wait, Beth. Gonna come in my fuckin' pants." His words were rushed and came out roughly between his gritted teeth. And his words and how he spoke them and all that she felt for him – then and before and for as long as she could remember – almost made her go completely out of her mind at that very moment.

She helped him get the dress off of her and didn't waste time to remove her bra. And it was different than last time, because despite the edge over which he was clearly lingering, he took a moment to press his face forward and into her chest. Sunk his teeth into the skin around her nipple, flicking the hardened nub lightly with his tongue, and moaned around her skin. And that simple action didn't just cause her to release a pleasure-filled sigh. It made her realize that this was as _real_ as she'd said it was. And she couldn't wait either.

She kicked out of her leggings while he undid his jeans and slid them off and finally, _finally_ , they were bare – emotionally and physically – in front of one another. In this place. Where they were. The house, their hearts, their minds. All of it. It made her want to weep for days or write a song and maybe even sing it – outside and in the streets and for anyone who cared or didn't care to listen.

"God _damnit_ ," he swore under his breath. They were both standing and their bodies were pressed closely together. His cock was hard and wedged in between them and it felt wet – not like her, already nearly dripping down her legs in need – and his hands were rough against the skin of her back and he palmed the cheeks of her ass and squeezed so hard that it made her whimper.

"Get on the floor," he said. And Beth thought he'd intended for his voice to sound forceful or demanding, but the words had come out strangled and trembling. But she followed his direction and positioned herself on the floor. The floor he'd built for her. On top of the blankets he'd brought over for her.

"What - or, how do you – want me?" She didn't feel entirely confident in her question and maybe not even in herself, either. But she trusted him. And she realized that with such a sudden and weighty ferocity that she felt like she'd gotten the wind knocked out of her.

And she'd remembered their sex – their love-making – as much as she had every other part of their relationship. But it felt like something into which she may need to ease herself again. And maybe he was feeling the same. But none of this felt in any way _wrong_ to her.

"Want you every fuckin' way possible, Beth. Every room o' this house," his words were grainy again, gravel against her exposed nipples and clitoris and every other part of her that housed the innumerable nerve endings that craved to be ignited by him.

"But right now, just wanna watch your face. Need to see it."

So she positioned herself on her back and opened her legs to accommodate his body. And he positioned himself above her, resting his weight on his elbows.

And he hadn't entered her yet when he crushed his lips against hers, licking his way into her mouth. He brought a hand up, then, as he moved his face away and tugged at and traced her lower lip over and over and over. And he was – his eyes were – transfixed on it, on her; on her mouth, on her face, on her eyes. And she was throbbing so much that a dull ache had formed deep inside of her.

He pushed just the tip of his cock into her and the strength and downward force of his pelvis kept hers pinned and stilled to the floor as she tried to buck her hips to force him deeper inside of her before the growing, searing burn consumed her entire body.

His breathing was heavy and rough and his eyelids were drooping though the black-blue of his eyes remained fixed on her face. And then he stuck a finger into her mouth and she almost came right then, as she watched his own mouth open along with hers. She bit down hard on his finger, until she swore she could taste the sweetness of his blood and his hips jerked forward, causing him to fill her completely.

" _Fuck_ ," he swore, stilling himself for a moment inside of her as she attempted to control her breathing. Attempted to refrain from begging him to just _fuck the shit out of her_. Because she wanted him - them - to take his time as much as she knew he wanted it. Because this wasn't like last time. This wasn't a goodbye – maybe it wasn't a _hello_ , either, but it was a confession, a song, a lovers' dance, a vow. A truth. It was real.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds and then began to pump himself in and out of her at a maddeningly slow pace.

She felt the tension building inside of her quickly. It'd been there most of the day. Since last night, if she were being honest. And she thought she might actually explode.

She gripped the layers of blankets that surrounded her and started rocking her hips in rhythm with his, steadily increasing the pace in search of the friction that she needed, but he clamped a hand roughly down onto the side of her hip after a few minutes of the faster-paced thrusts.

"Keep doin' that, 's gonna be over in two fuckin' seconds," he muttered shakily.

She smiled and felt another shock, another tight spasm, deep in her core at his words because, even after all these years, they could still do this to each other. And it wasn't just sex. Wasn't just physical. It was so far beyond she wasn't sure that it had a name.

"I love you," she said. And she felt his cock flex inside of her – almost like she'd said something extremely erotic. But she'd only said the truth.

"Ugh, god. _Shit_ , I love you, Beth." His voice was almost more like a moan as he started thrusting again, and it was harder and faster this time. And he was biting down hard on his lip and groaning deep in his chest with each breath he forcefully inhaled.

With each thrust and each breath – his and hers – he was driving her higher and higher, causing the pit of her stomach to tighten until finally it burst and she saw flickering lights behind the darkness of her eyelids.

"I'm gonna come – oh, _god_ , Daryl - " was all she'd had time to say in between moans and the waves that'd started pulsing deep inside of her without much in the way of warning. And his face was a thousand pictures - of a man finding god after a life of crime or a boy seeing a meteor shower for the first time – awe-stricken and twisted beautifully in wonder and subtle restraint as he kept his eyes on hers, letting her ride out her waves before he let himself go.

And it was beautiful, the way he looked at her as he gave himself to her in this way, especially after the last time when it'd all been so painful. But even in the throes of release and passion, he looked at her as though she were the sun of his universe, like she were the air that he breathed and the water he drank and everything that kept him alive.

And she whispered in his ear when he collapsed on top of her.

"I love you so much."

He inhaled deeply beside her, buried his face in her neck and rubbed his lips against the skin there, pressed himself even closer somehow – he was still inside her, so she wasn't sure that that was actually possible – and as he exhaled shakily, she heard the relief in it. The understated joy in it. The silent vow in it.

"Love you, baby. C'mon. Got somethin' to show ya," he said into her neck. And she shook her head, because she didn't feel like moving.

They'd come straight up here, pretty much, when they'd arrived at the house. Overcome with the emotion and need to be close like this. She hadn't gotten any kind of tour yet. There was only a small lamp in one corner of the room, one that he must've brought over from his house, in the bedroom where they were. She couldn't see much – hadn't really cared to – except for him.

"Few more minutes," she said, circling her arms around his back, crushing his body into hers.

He nodded against her, and his hair tickled her face.

"Feels like I been waitin' forever for this. Even when I thought I didn't need it or want it anymore," she continued, tracing linear paths along his sweaty back.

He picked his head up from her shoulder and rested his cheek against her bare chest.

"Ain't gotta wait no more, if ya don't wanna. I'll wait forever, so long's I can just see ya. I get it if y'ain't ready to just – y'know – move in together or nothin' like that. Not expectin' that. But I still got some shit to do 'round here an' - "

"Daryl, just shut up," she cut him off. "I want ya here. Got three bedrooms and your dungeon – get sick of each other, we got plenty of places to hide. But just for a li'l while. 'Cause if this is gonna work, _we_ gotta work on it. And I told ya – I'm ready. I wanna try. So whenever you're ready, ya know where I'll be." She leaned her head down to press a peck to his head.

They were silent for a few moments. He rubbed idle circles the skin of her abdomen and she tugged at and smoothed down his hair. Lost in thought. In wakeful dreams, maybe.

"A'right," he whispered, poking at her with one finger. "Get up. Lemme show ya your Christmas present 'fore ya fall asleep."

She groaned lightly in protest but she was intrigued. Because what else could he have possibly done for her? Coaxed his own soul out of his body and bottled it up in a jar? A fucking house apparently wasn't Christmas gift enough for the rest of time.

"As long as ya stay here with me tonight," she said.

He tipped his head up at her, still not moving to get up.

"Stay 'til ya tell me to leave. Stay every day, even if you're pissed at me for bein' a jackass, 'less ya tell me otherwise," he said, pressing closed-mouth kisses to her chest.

She smiled at him, because when she could still see some fear there in his eyes. And she wanted to make it go away. She wasn't afraid anymore. She wasn't confused. She might be, some days, but not right now.

"C'mon, Dixon. Quit dickin' 'round and show me what ya got for me. Then we can go and take a piss outside just the way y'always liked to do and then we can go to bed. Or floor, whatever. Just wanna spend the night with ya – first night in our house. Some kind'a milestone or somethin', ain't it?"

And the sound of his nearly-silent laughter was enough to make her want to cry. Cry for their past – the good parts of it as much as the bad parts of it – because even the best minutes of their best days didn't hold a fucking candle to the place at which they'd finally, _finally_ , arrived


	10. fight for now (reflect me)

_**A/N: Apologies for the horrendous delay. Thinking this is the final chapter (but I don't trust myself). Hope you enjoy. Just wanted to say thanks to anyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, followed, or even glanced at this story. You're all inspiring, and I can't believe I continued this experiment of mine for so very long. But I hope it's worth it to you.**_

 _ **Much love.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 10: fight for now (reflect me)**

"So, what's this big surprise?" Beth yawned as she waited for Daryl to finish re-dressing himself. There was no plumbing or water in the house quite yet, so they weren't able to wash themselves off. Daryl had offered to take Beth over to his and Merle's house to shower, but she'd declined for the time being and instead wiped herself down as best she could with some paper towels that she'd found in the kitchen.

She felt an anxious kind of curiosity when she thought about whatever _else_ Daryl could possibly have up his sleeve.

"Still got the patience of a four year-old, don't'cha?" He muttered as he slid his arms into the long-sleeved shirt he'd been wearing and began securing the buttons. Slowly. Maybe intentionally so, judging by the nearly imperceptible half-smirk that she could just barely detect in the darkness of the room.

"Well, you're the one makin' me get up when I was all comfortable," she retorted, and she almost stuck her tongue out at him.

"Sorry, girl. 'S nothin', though. Could wait 'til tomorrow, if ya really wanted."

"I'm already up. Let's go." She crossed her arms and tapped a boot-clad toe on the wooden floor, but she was feigning impatience, really, because the ideas that were forming and scattering rampantly inside her head made her want to curl up on the blankets and fall asleep and just live inside of this moment, just inhaling the scent of him. Of them.

"C'mon," he said, securing the last of the buttons on his shirt. He jerked his head toward the door of the bedroom and turned to walk out into the hallway.

She followed him. Stayed back behind him a few feet, walking a few paces more slowly.

He led the way down the stairs and onto the first floor of the house, which looked the same as it had the previous evening – beautiful and shiny and empty – and she could almost imagine what it'd look like one day in the future, when various pieces and styles of furniture would occupy the empty spaces of the floor and artwork would cover the walls.

Daryl opened the door that Beth knew without _actually knowing_ would lead to the basement. The door was located just around the corner from the bottom of the stairway that led to the second floor.

"'S down here." His voice was quiet as he flipped the switch that illuminated the stairwell.

She pulled the sleeves of her sweater-dress down so that they covered her hands, and it wasn't that the house was cold - but her hands suddenly were. Cold and clammy and twitchy.

She rounded the corner at the bottom of the basement stairs. It wasn't quite finished, she could tell, but it was spacious and the floor was nearly fully-carpeted. There were a few windows lining the plaster of the textured walls. She wasn't greeted by the typical musty, moldy basement smell. It smelled much like the rest of the house – new and untouched and perfect.

There was a small card table sitting in the center of the large room that was separated from what she knew was the storage area by a wall and another door.

Several items sat on the table – a few small, closed cardboard boxes and a few black binders.

Daryl stopped walking when he was halfway between the base of the stairs and the center of the room, where the table sat. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Beth, who was still slowly walking up behind him. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, then, and turned his head back around in front of him, directing his eyes and his head toward the floor.

"A card table? I – uh – yeah, we could pro'ly use one of those. Thanks, Daryl."

She was half-joking. He snorted quietly. Nervously, maybe. He didn't look at her.

"Go on. Look inside of 'em."

"Inside of what, exactly? The boxes or the binders?" She inched closer to the table, passing by his side without touching or looking at him. As she reached the table, she let her hands emerge from the protective shell of her dress sleeves and wiped them on her leggings.

"All of 'em."

"Y'know, I really don't like to be – watched. When I'm openin' gifts. Forget that 'bout me?" Her voice was shaky. She could feel the increased rate of her pulse in her neck. In her chest. And she couldn't quite explain the physical reaction she was experiencing.

"Don't have to watch." He shrugged and started to turn away from her.

"No, no. It's fine. I'll make an exception for ya. Just once, though. This ain't – ain't gonna be a trend or nothin'. Got it?" She almost rolled her eyes at herself, at her attempts at masking her irrational fear and anxiety with snark and unoriginal humor.

She picked up one of the small cardboard boxes and clumsily opened up the flaps. Hummed quietly to herself to fill the emptiness of the room – or maybe the fullness.

She furrowed her eyebrows when she pulled out the first item with which her hand made contact.

A small mini-notebook. It was old – she could tell by the way the pages had yellowed and become crisp to the touch. By the way the spirals that bound together the pages were slanted like they'd been smashed or kept underneath several pounds of heavy books.

"This your diary or somethin'?"

Her voice was shaking. So were her hands.

His eyes met hers and he rolled a shoulder, just slightly. Brought a thumb up to his mouth.

She flipped open the faded cover – it used to be a hunter green color, she could tell.

The first page didn't say much, but there were a few lines written in his scrawled handwriting. He'd never written fully-formed letters – like he couldn't be bothered to close an _o_ or dot an _i_. She smiled in spite of herself, that she could still recognize it like she'd been reading his writing every single day for the last decade.

 _first day without you. can still smell you. i wish i could take it back. make ya stay. i'm a fuckin' dumbass, that's what merle keeps sayin'. he ain't wrong._

And the first several pages continued in a similar fashion. Self-deprecation. Anger – at her, at himself.

 _you tried to call, i told ya i didn't give 2 shits. i'm a fuckin' liar. be easier if ya'd just forget all 'bout me._

Halfway through, the invisible yet, to Beth, _tangible_ tone of the entries to this _actual_ diary, or something super fucking similar, changed.

 _bet you're gettin straight A's in all your classes. nellie's actin crazy, probly missin ya. keep tellin her she ain't alone._

 _all i want is your dreams to come true. your dreams're mine_

 _graduatin' next week, your pops told me so. damn if i wouldn't give up my fuckin' crossbow to be there. see the look in them eyes when ya get what ya earned._

A lump formed in Beth's throat as she continued reading. They weren't love letters, that's for damn sure. He clearly couldn't recognize a proper noun when it smacked him in the face. It didn't matter. She didn't look at him. Just kept flipping through the pages.

 _said i wasn't gonna do this shit no more. you're happy. you're engaged. i'm drunk. i bought the land for our house last week. done paid for it. even if you're gonna live in it with him, i'm still gonna do this._

She stopped reading. Lifted her eyes slowly toward his face, which was still cast downward.

"Know I ain't great at this shit - at expressin' myself. Never have been. Thought this'd make it easier. Or somethin'. So ya could – I'unno – know what I was thinkin'. Couldn't really talk to nobody 'bout it. Ain't no writer, neither, but – "

"Thank you," she whispered. "Means more than ya know. Can't change anythin'. Can't make the past different or disappear. But you givin' this part of yourself to me – to anyone – that's somethin', Daryl. That's everythin'."

And she thought about all the times over the past several months when she'd broken down and used her own pain against him in a way. She thought about all of her assumptions, that he hadn't lived in any kind of hell that was comparable to the one in which she'd once dwelled for so long, despite what he'd revealed especially over the last several weeks.

The rest of the contents of the cardboard boxes were lighter in nature though not necessarily in weight. A large rock that Daryl claimed Beth had thrown at his motorcycle when they'd been fighting one of the many times before she'd left. The linen that'd once covered the pillow she'd used when she'd stayed over at his and Merle's house when they'd been dating – it still smelled like her hair, and he admitted he'd never been able to wash it.

The binders were full of pictures covered by the laminated pages – pictures of them, pictures of Nellie (both before and after Beth had left for New York), pictures of her family, pictures from Maggie and Glenn's wedding, pictures of Merle. Frozen memories and images of everyone and everything and every place that'd ever been important to her. And those were the same things that were important to him. Always had been. One binder contained photos of the progress of the house – from its beginnings as a dream and a large acreage of empty land to large holes in the earth and piles of dirt to how it stood now in all of its perfection. And at the end of the binder was the deed to the house. For her.

"Thank you, Daryl. This is – the gifts, the house, it – it's all so much. Means so much."

She stepped close to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She could feel him trembling just a little, and she knew that this – giving himself in this way – had been a profound amount of emotional exertion. And that made it all so much more meaningful.

"Glad ya like it. Don't expect it every Christmas, though. Took me a long time to get all o' this shit together and even more time an' a few pep talks from Merle to actually go on an' give it to ya. Was gonna burn the shit a couple'a weeks ago."

Beth leaned back a bit, removing her head from the solidity of his chest and tipping her head upwards so that she could look at him.

"Glad ya didn't burn any of it."

She pulled his head down and covered his mouth with hers. She let the visions of his written words and the care he'd taken and the effort he'd given to constructing all of this – the house, the gifts – saturate her feelings. And it – this moment – felt simultaneously like an end and a beginning. As if they were dancing along the edge of something that would determine the course of forever. While once upon a time Beth knew she'd have wished they could have skipped over all of the bad and just ended up here – right here, in this very fucking moment – she knew now that it didn't matter. Didn't matter how many times they tripped and fell and fucked up and hurt each other. She'd have lived the same life over and over again so long as – every single time – the two of them would end up here like this, like two people who knew each other better than any other person knew or would ever know or understand either of them. Two people kissing in the basement of the house about which they'd created from their dreams.

"One more thing," Daryl murmured against her mouth.

She scoffed. "No more, Daryl. I don't deserve anythin' else. I didn't even get ya a card or anythin'-"

He pulled his head back and brought a rough hand to the side of her face. His eyes were narrowed, like she'd said something absurd.

"You bein' here an' givin' me – givin' us – y'know, givin' _this_ a chance when I don't deserve shit from ya – Beth, that's more'n anyone's ever done for me. More'n anyone _could ever_ do for me." He choked on the words a little as he spoke them in a tight whisper and dropped his eyes to the floor.

"No dwellin' on shit, Daryl Dixon," she said firmly, grabbing him by the chin with her index finger and thumb and turning his face upwards. "We aren't the same people we used to be. We gotta put the past away. Okay? We both gotta be in this, like this, for it to work."

She was a little surprised to see the small half-smirk overtake his mouth. A little amused at the subtle shake of his head that served to – finally, just this once – move the hair away from his face. The shake of his head that appeared eerily akin to something like disbelief. Like wonder.

"See, it's shit like that. Sayin' shit like that – shit I never dreamed of. Couldn't never even think to say. 'S why I gotta ask ya this – why I gotta tell ya that I know I ain't perfect. Ain't never wanted to be no one's boyfriend 'cept yours. Ain't never wanted to get married and have no babies – still don't know if I could ever be a dad."

He averted his eyes again and fumbled around with something in his back pocket and his words became jumbled and muttered and muffled by his thick breaths.

He brought one hand in between him – a hand that was holding an object that Beth couldn't quite distinguish, because his other hand came up to the side of her face and kept it locked in place and space and time.

"Don't know how to do this, Beth. But – god, ya know how fuckin' much I love you. Don't have to say nothin' or do nothin' now or ever. Don't make no difference to me. This place – 's yours. I'm yours. This - " he brought his other hand up higher and in between them, and, through the fluorescence illuminating the objects and the world and life, she saw the sparkles of the diamonds of the ring, and _what the fuck_ – "is yours. And I – I'unno, Beth Ann. Think I've done fucked up 'cause I ain't down on a knee or surprisin' ya or hidin' it somewhere and sendin' y'out to find it. And I'unno – I ain't really askin', 'cause you ain't gotta give me no answer. Ain't nothin' to be answered. I love you. I wanna marry you. Wanna build ya shit and take ya on motorcycle rides and hang out with your family and tease ya 'til your face turns red and ya laugh. Wanna watch ya outsmart Merle and put him in his place and watch ya brush Nellie. Wanna hear 'bout your job. Wanna go fuckin' grocery shoppin' with ya. Wanna feel like I feel when I'm with ya. Wanna make ya smile. Wanna be there when you're – I'unno – when you're pissed and bitchy and when you're happy or cryin'. And – here."

Instead of sliding it onto a finger or giving Beth enough time to process or respond or take a breath, he opened the palm of one of her hands and placed the ring inside of the cup formed by her flesh and blood.

"Was your grandma's. 'S beautiful. Belongs to you. Always has, Beth."

Beth's breaths had become lodged in her chest – deeper, maybe in the alveolar sacs that comprised the tissue of her lungs. Maybe in the rapidly pumping blood vessels that were meant and existed only to deliver oxygen to her brain, to her body.

"I love you," she managed after several moments. She rolled the ring around with her fingers and her tear-filled eyes widened in awe at its beauty. At his.

He stepped back and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Giving her space. Allowing her to think. To figure things out. And maybe that's what he'd always forced her to do. She hadn't always found it particularly helpful. But he wasn't pushing her away or pulling her closer. Wasn't insisting on anything at all. And she almost laughed when she thought about some old saying about _people never change_. Maybe they don't or didn't or couldn't. But they could fuck up and hit rock bottom and learn something and evolve.

And she was still evolving. She knew that. But in that moment, she also knew that she didn't want to take another step forward without him.

So, without saying anything, she slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. She heard Daryl swallow audibly from where he stood a few feet away, but she knew he still wasn't expecting anything. Wasn't anticipating anything and, probably, wasn't even _hoping_ for anything.

And none of that was conducive to their growth. So she cleared her throat softly and took a few steps towards him.

"You deserve to be happy, Daryl. You deserve everythin' – and you ain't the only one scared. I'unno if I can be anythin' like my momma. I'unno if I can be everythin' you need. But I wanna be. And I'll spend the rest of my life tryin' to be, if that's what it takes. And I don't want to be with anyone else on this entire planet when I live through my saddest day or my happiest. Don't wanna be with anyone else when all of my dreams come true or when shit hits the fan and blows up in my face. _This_ has always been my dream. Still is."

"Y'ain't gotta say nothin' now, Beth," he mumbled, as if he hadn't heard a word that she'd spoken.

"I know that. But I wanna, so I am. And I'm sayin' yes."

Time stopped for a moment as he looked at her and a thousand emotions crossed over his features – made brief homes within the wrinkles of skin by his eyes and the corners of his lips. Fear, relief, anxiety, disbelief, adoration, love – so much love, and it pooled into the icy depths of his eyes like a silent poem that only she could hear or read or feel.

And the world began spinning again when he wordlessly surged forward and hooked his arms around the back of her. She felt the force of him attempting to lift her up, and it felt like he needed that closeness with her at that moment more than he needed air or water, and so she released the tension from her muscles and allowed him to suspend her in the air and space between them for a moment. She wrapped her legs around his middle as he pulled her impossibly close – crushed her – to his body and buried his lips and face and breath into her neck and her chest.

And it was sometime later that evening, just before they'd gone to sleep pressed closely together on their bedroom floor, when the scattered pieces of her mind began to make comparisons. And they didn't mean much. Not now. But she – her mind – couldn't help but notice how peaceful she felt at this moment in comparison to the way she'd felt after her previous engagement. After Zach had proposed and she'd accepted and then fell headlong into dread because he'd never met her family, because there was so much about _her_ that he hadn't known - that he still didn't know and that he never would know. And it was because Daryl knew _her_ – every inch of her body and her past and her present and her fears – and this man knew her family; he loved them as they did him. And, truthfully, he was already a part of her family – they were each a part of the other's – and had been for years.

So fuck fairytales, she thought. Fuck secrets, fuck the glamorization of getting to know someone new, fuck going away to find yourself – because I've been here all along. With him.

She smiled at her own thoughts and let her mind drift towards that love story – their love story. She had a few chapters to add. It wasn't complete – far from it. She couldn't anticipate the specifics of the end. The specifics of future conflicts and resolutions and rises and falls of the unwritten, un-lived narrative.

She wondered if it should really even be referred to as a _love_ story. Maybe _life_ story was a more appropriate label – a new genre. A _real life_ story. Confusing and tragic and happy and sad and filled with just as much pain as joy. As the images of their story flickered behind her eyes, she saw herself. Every version. She saw him – who he was and had always been at his core, at the very part of him that couldn't be described by any type of humanly or earthly term. And, at several points in time within many of the chapters, even she couldn't delineate who the protagonist or antagonist of this story was or if there'd ever been one or the other. She couldn't determine who the "good guy" was. And, yeah – _life story_ , she decided.

The invisible outlines she'd drawn for the next chapters were just skeletons of potential events. A wedding. A honeymoon. Long talks. Arguments. Difficult times, when one or both of them wouldn't be able to let the past die. Good times, when they'd agree that none of the bullshit mattered. Angry sex. Make-up sex. Purchases, big and small. Kids, maybe.

As her consciousness began to dissolve, she felt him align his hand with hers and lace his rough fingers - that felt like home and hurt and love - with hers. And she wondered, then, why she'd ever needed to try to see the future when her present felt like this.

And her last decision before she drifted off was to shred the fucking outlines, the embryonic versions of expectations and hopes – the future kids, the future _them_ – and watch them bleed.


End file.
